Her Chair

Brown, antediluvian, cherished.
Hazel coloured bamboo chairs
handmade in Mauritius
over 100 years ago. Been through
marriages, births, deaths
and divorces.

Months of harsh work, as
torturing as being fed
mouldy prison food.
Shipped on a small sail boat
through harsh, stormy seas where
granddad would start a new life.

He sat down in the chair one day,
his sky-blue eyes drawn to the lady
of his dreams. My grandma. They had
fallen in love. They cherished the chairs
together while drinking a cup of coffee
as they stared into the moonlight.

Soon later she took her last breath
in the chair. My grandpa couldn't bear
the sadness of having the chair any more.
Her chair. The bamboo started to crackle off
and the paint wore off. It soon started to
deteriorate. What was he without her?