Dark oatmeal, the color of the chair
I sit in to begin the day.

Fire leaves me breathless; water more so
if I am immersed. Air is my element in the chair.

The chair responds slightly to my back and forth.
I rock a small amount, but mostly sit still and breathe.

I am earthbound and this is killing me, this chair.
It’s a throne, an execution throne. They will find me here,

absolutely still when they find me in the dark
oatmeal chair. I will have stopped completely.

Finally, the earth will have me and that will be that.
I’ll go on of course. You won’t be able to tell.

Have a meal for me, won’t you? I will share
whatever you offer. Joy or sadness will all be the same

to me, as will a bowl
of oatmeal — dark, filled with blueberries,

agave, cinnamon. It will be good
and all I can handle; all I can fulfill

as a promise to you. You will think
of me when you eat it. You will smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T