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
Dark Matter 
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