Fri, 16 January

LITURGY FOR AN EMPTY CHAIR Let us prepare the table. Let the fork find its left hand. Let the knife remember its edge. Let the napkin be folded once, then once again— a white flag no one needs to wave. Let the glass stand open-mouthed and thirsty. Let it wait without shame. We do not apologize for the silence. We do not fill it with music. We set a place and the place becomes a door. Let the wood hold what the wood has always held: the pressed ghost of every body that rose and said I'll be right back. Let the grain of the chair speak. Let it say: I was a tree once. I knew how to wait for seasons. Now I wait for you. Let the room be cool. Let the window be cracked just enough to hear what the street is saying about Friday. Let us not rush. Let the empty seat be the most important guest— the one who teaches all the others how to arrive.