Vacant, but full.
Full of memories of years gone by...
Of stories told to young children as they snuggle on laps.
Of cats curled on the cushion
as the midday sun shines through a nearby window.
Memories of days before there were TV remotes
and you actually had to get up off the comfy chair
to turn a knob on the television.
And then you adjusted the rabbit ears
and twisted the aluminum foil
and asked a child to 'hold it right there'
because that's where the best reception was.
Memories of crocheted doilies and cups of afternoon tea
shared with friends who dropped by
while pots of homemade soup
simmered on the on the stove awaiting dinner time.
Memories of giggling laughter as
as kids gleefully pounded on the cushions
to release the shimmering 'diamonds' of dust
long hidden between the threads of the upholstery
to dance in the streaming sunshine.
A place to rest at the end of the day,
put your feet up on the ottoman
and reach for your book on the side table.
Books read by the fireplace on a cold, wintry night.
Mysteries and Suspense novels,
Sagas and Romances,
Historical novels and books of poetry.
Poe and Hemmingway,
Dickinson and Shakespeare.
A place where the carpet is worn
on the floor in front, where many times,
knees were placed while prayers were said.
Where hearts were changed and folks talked to God.
A vacant chair? I think not.