Kitchen Chair
(A short-story)

i miss the way your face would change
early in the morning, standing with one hand
on the kitchen chair, the one with the left back leg
slightly shorter than all the others, rocking 
the two of you gently on the faded ocean
of blue linoleum, like the chair
were a ship and you were the captain and this 
was your dawn watch

when you were taken 
i burned that chair in the back yard, some neighbour
saw the smoke and when the firemen arrived 
i told them 
the emergency was already over

Lori Garrison