A ghost chair haunts my hours
And devours my memory.
I hoped that She and I would become WE.
Wrapped in each other’s skin.
Sunday, when the air grew still around us
Into my being
And I became deeply religious
Every fibre thanked the Father that She and I were here
Crouched hungrily on a green chair
The very same that haunts my hours
Two years later
The familiar I follow
But it will not lead me back to her
December 25, 2010
A Ghost Chair
Three Text Maximum
© tracy j h