NaPoWriMo Prompt #4

Win a chap by Brothel Books and 2 free tickets to the 2nd annual New York City Poetry Festival! More info about our NaPoWriMo challenge here.

Prompt #4
April 4, 2012
Poem in which the chairs appear empty but are really quite full

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3 thoughts on “NaPoWriMo Prompt #4

  1. Judy L. Brekke

    grandpa stephen eating his plate
    of food then nibbling on whatever
    was left on the table
    drinking a pale ale
    while narrating his day
    of chemo and radiation

    around our oak table
    memories of grandpa stephen
    standing up, picking up his plate
    and utensils
    walking to door
    throwing them outside

    dinner over grandpa stephen
    watches baseball critiquing
    and coaching
    eating from the candy bowl
    wondering where the treats
    disappeared

    even now when the chairs
    appear quite empty
    they are really quite full
    of life with grandpa stephen
    playing his guitar
    until death took his last breath

  2. Rebekah Zhuraw (aka marguerite)

    Chairs

    I was conveniently wearing a skirt, not my usual
    workaday attire, but it was a party. You pivoted
    me into your office with an urgency
    like when you lunged at me that first time in my kitchen
    and I pushed you back, asking, “Are you married?”
    “Yes,” you had said with a smile. “Kids?” I asked. “Two.”
    “Good,” I said then, letting my arms collapse so that you fell
    on top of me like the boys I used to challenge to wrestle
    in my tomboy years when they’d finally pin me.
    At first the chairs seemed in the way, but you stood me
    one foot on each before lifting me above the red upholstery—
    I’d never let anyone carry me since I was a child.
    I’ve always had this image of myself as too big—
    that it couldn’t be done without casualties,
    despite that I was willing to slide-tackle almost anybody.
    And suddenly there I was with only you to hold onto.
    Thank god my laughter has always turned you on,
    and my tears, which with the teenage boys was almost always
    a mood killer. It was quiet outside in the hall,
    and as I felt the sudden rush of warmth run down my legs,
    I looked down at the chairs that had seemed so empty
    and far away a moment ago, my toes coming in for a landing,
    the red upholstery giving off a familiar damp, bleachy smell
    now, so clearly full.

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