Sunday, September 15, 2019


I remember how you
always loved little stools,
they would follow you home
like stray dogs.
I bought one yesterday
at the second-hand store,
a rectangular wooden stool
spray-painted light gray,
almost white
The gray of the sky
when the sun is trying
to break through the clouds,
The gray of the flecks in your
enormous eyes
A ghost stool for you to perch on
in case you feel like stopping by
and hanging out
for a little while

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