THAT DAMNED BROKEN CHAIR

The broken chair stares daggers at me from across the empty living room.

The entire house has been hollowed out. Bare walls , naked windows.

I never knew windows could be more sad and void than with no curtains.

The whole structure seems to whimper and shake.

"If you hadn't broken me", the chair screams.

" If you had just sat still, been seen and not heard, She might have...", the chair says.

Tenoned braces slipped from the legs.

A position in imitation of downward dog adds fire to the screeches.

"If you hadn't been playing Davy Crockett".

I cover my ears and it down by the opposite wall.

No beds, no table, no furniture or TV.

My Dads clothes are an infuriated pile in his bedroom floor.

Mine are neatly stacked and folded in mine.

Does that have significance?

I never noticed we had rugs until they were gone.

The naked floor looks embarrassed.

Just the night before, we watched Fess Parker save the day as Davy.

My five year old reenactment broke an old cane bottomed oak framed chair.

This afternoon, I come home from school and our house is a borrowed tomb, no longer needed by my Mom.

" If you hadn't broken me", the words fall through the cracked cane woven seat,

"She might have taken me with her."

My mouth is dry, but there's no glasses, no pots or pans, no silverware or plates.

I'd never thought about glasses before.

"If you hadn't broken me, maybe I could have gone with her" ,the chair repeats.

"If you hadn't broken me, maybe She'd have taken your Dad and you with her too."

I look to my Dad, hoping he'd speak up in my defense.

My Dad stays silent.

I do too.

I guess that damned broken chair said it all.