Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Invisible


Look carefully. I have been here for a very long time.

At first you thought I was stylish. After all, I look good in black, I’m skinny but comfortable, innovative and designed in Germany.

Do you even remember it was the cool Germany of the Weimar Republic? When less was more and Berlin could freight a thousand dreams of sin and liberation?

Someone new who comes in to visit may say something about me, but you have forgotten. Now I hold laundry baskets or prop up a pair of broken skis. We chairs are furniture. We blend in until we get in the way and then we’re thrown away.

I don’t think you remember meeting me at Pine and Melrose—why should you? They destroyed that place a while ago, but you still haunt the bars around it to look for younger furniture.

Some people may remember chairs because an old irascible cat would curl within a sunbeam. Some may even remember such a chair as a place of suspense when the television came alive with Japanese ghosts. Or it was a place to make yoga posing love.

But here I am, unsat in save by baskets full of smelly underwear and a pair of broken skis.

And did you know you left that unread book by Ellison beneath me? It’s fitting really for I have had the time to consider all the words that tell your privileged tale of just how much you will not see.

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