Two
wooden stools stand by the table
in
the kitchen, one poised on four legs
waiting
to receive me twice a day, once
at
lunch time, another to accommodate
me
at the evening meal. Rarely do I partake
of
breakfast most days. Always I sit on the
stool
which faces me in the same direction.
The
other stool waits patiently for those rare
days
my son comes to visit. It remains empty,
at
the ready, nonetheless, prepared for the
weight
with a sturdiness all lifelong it was
built
to hold.
Chris
Hanch 4-9-18
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