Empty Chair
it’s hard even when you know it’s coming,
that it happens to all of us,
and that if you’re lucky enough
one day your hair will thin,
and your vision will dim,
and that your skin will become a map of your journey
marked by the scars of your victories and defeats
and you won’t be quite as nimble
even though your brain keeps telling you
that you can still bound across any obstacle, cross any bridge,
that you can still slay dragons real and imagined,
and even though you know that you wouldn’t change a thing,
except for maybe holding your tongue
in those moments of fear,
or frustration,
or dismay,
or anger,
or misunderstanding
when you said those things you wish you hadn’t,
and even though you have enduring and profound gratitude
for the laughter, the wisdom, and the encouragement,
and the protection from your foolish pride
or youthful ignorance,
it’s hard
because even though you know its coming,
that it happens to all of us,
and that you still live in a familiar place
there’s an
empty chair at the table.