"The Thinking Chair" by Zach Evans

The Thinking Chair

As I sit here in my tall armchair,

And as I ponder the different aspects of my life,

The fingers of my right hand seem, too,

to be pondering, pondering.

Over and over again they trace

The grooves and patterns in

The wooden arm that my hand rests on.

Around and around they fondle the scroll at they end,

Like a trail that I know so well,

I need not see it to guide my hand over the twisting shapes

Like a retired war general tracing a map

A map of attacks, counterattacks, ambushes,

Battle strategies.

Tap, tap, tap, the general ponders his final defeat.

Running through a thousand different scenarios

That he could have used instead.

I turn my attention from space beyond

To the roaring fire before me.

My hand raises from the polished wooden surface.

It picks up a picture frame from the table beside me.

A beautiful young face gazes up at me from behind the glass,

While the firelight dances on my face.

Those shining eyes that once looked like diamonds to me,

Now are gaping windows into my memory.

A thought pops into my head- "throw it in the fire!" -but no.

The past is not worth dwelling on such defeats.

I must keep my head high and travel on.

And so, I set the framed picture back on the table,

Gather my coat, scarf, hat, and gloves, open the door,

Take one last look around,

And plunge into the storm beyond my doorstep.

Zach Evans

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