The Story of a Chair


Temporary empires of frost. This darkness has the past in it. Year by year the
cathedral sinks deeper into the marsh. Imagine anyone this deliberately lost. An icicle
tools its way to murder. A service to the stones, who know the intent in falling.
How do you discover what you’re made for? Wasn’t that something the cold asked
you once? He’s so lost and inflexible you could be the memory of a wall he refused to
tear down. He could be something to sit in when the iced dawn asks you to participate. A
territory bereft of human intervention. A construction of refined inaction.
In this way, he is slowly kidnapped by warmer weather, a friend of invisible glass
animals deliberating their pitch while the earth is superficially dissected again and again
by the welcome rain, cutting the disease from the earth’s skin so neatly the scars don’t
show. He’s like a planet, one of the patients, escaped, his illness held close.
By this time, he has achieved a deeper understanding of water, which makes him
look gray and experienced, nearly ready to fall apart. The swarms of metaphorical pain he
calls “bees” arrive as he sits thinking, and whatever it is he has learned, but can not name,
surrounds him with a distant kind of singing.

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.