Some days I am Ana's teacher, some days she is mine.
This morning, we look through her kitchen window,
the one she can't get clean, cobwebs massed
between sash and pane. The sky is blue-gold, almost
the color of home.
Ana, I say, each winter
I get more lonely. Both of us would like the sun
to linger as that round fruit in June, but Ana says
it's better to forget what you used to know...

Burst.
Blush.
Bail.

Battling know-better
And taking nods from memory
To feel better.
But where are you now?

Satisfaction is fleeting,
Full of delusions
Of the story of how
It's supposed to be.

It's not that.

But what would it take for you
To see,
To feel,
That?

Take what's she's given
In this ***-ridden demise
Of desire,
Of details,
Of days

You might have spent
With her
If you weren't such
A product of your
Past.

Fade in: Ext. Theater - Day
Cue clouds: gray shrouds
blanket the sky
and the sun's last remaining rays
Cut to: Ext. Theater - Noon
Cue crowd: no sound,
no song comprise
the mise en scene
of this somber scene
Fade in: Int. Theater - Night
Cue sound: few gasps,
some oohs and ahhs,
some cries comprise
the mise en scene
of this joyous scene
Cut to: extreme close up
Their eyes reflect the faces on the screen:
Newman, Hoffman, Brando, Ledger
Pacino, De Niro
Penn, Caine, Dean
Fade out

First period is always the worst.
After hours of perfect, statuesque silence
I am poked, prodded, abused
Why is he always so angry
So hateful
His fingers claw  at me
His feet collide into my legs
And sometimes,
He loses his temper all together
And in a furious rage
He hurtles me against the wall
As if destroying a mere chair
Will solve all problems
Finally he leaves as second period begins
And I am filled with blandness
A person trying to blend
Never lifting a finger or muttering a word
It suffocates me with its nothingness
I force myself to get lost in time
But it always seems like eternity
It's not at all like when she sits in me
Sixth hour is always the best
She comes in with a soft step
Quietly settling herself in
She seems solemn most days
As if filled with disappointment
I wish I could embrace her
Let her know she is loved
But I can't
No chair can
It's a shame,
Next year, she'll be gone
And all be left with pokes, prods, and unhappiness.
I am just a chair after all.

Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die.