Sunday, June 8, 2008

this poem is a chair

It is composed of four corners,
hard edges, material that burns easily.
Think of all the things it might mean
to the space it occupies. You can do more than
just sit on it. My friend put his books on it once.
If you choose to be a little fanciful, you can
ask a green ostrich to stand on it, sing its
heart out. This is anyone's harbor but
it is no one's refuge. It is still too small --
it needs to be restructured for it to resemble something
close to home. Some people like to argue
about what it represents. The way it just settles here
must mean something to someone. They call me up
at 2 am, insisting that it is more than
its parts. But no, really, it is just a chair. And yes,
it will hold.

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