Old Chair

There is beauty in this beacon of the sun. she lingers along the wind, through the window. Casting no shadow upon my bed. Old crooked door and noisy hinges. Still cold,morning dew till noon. Drops a few on the front stone below the cottonwood. Lovely chair painted white. A long time ago. Chipped and rusted. Blue underneath where it was once new. I sat for a lifetime in that chair the day you died I cried on the flowers that you would plant every spring. I felt lost and angry,I'm sorry that I ripped them up. I`ll plant them again next chance I get. They will always be there. Like the slamming of the screen door. He smiles at me on the way to the bus stop. Runs his hands across the tall grass. I hoped the bitterness would pass. But it just isn't the same here without you. He gets out of bed around ten sees me there in the old chair. We sit and talk about you. I just want to write this for you. Beautiful sunlight. We still love you.