POEM: The Chair’s Reaction on the News of My Sister’s Death

The chair took the news hard with a wooden glare.
It was prepared for the worst.

I cried seawater into its splintered hands
But all it could do was stare back

Bound to that table like an old wife,
It would not answer my questions

Instead, It offered just a flat angled face,
Polished to the slickness of marble,

Wishing it could cry too,
if only it could,

if only that would help.