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EMPTY CHAIR
Our spirits become infused
into the chairs of our lives.
Even when they become empty,
traces of the person remain. There, at the beach house
in the chair in the corner,
my mother would sit for hours
with her knitting needles. The click of those needles
can still be heard
as I pass that chair
on summer evenings. Her boundless love of family
comes back to me
as if she is in that chair
once again. There is an ache,
realizing the chair is empty. But also, a joy, in knowing
that all that we have loved in life
remains soaked with our spirit,
even the chairs that appear so empty.
Empty Chairs by Pamela McCauley