Poetry by Kelly Beller
Two Chairs
Tony, the refinisher, called. My chairs are ready.
They fit comfortably in the back of the wagon
but now crowd my living room.
frames reglued, wood refinished
new hides reupholstered.
transients in my living room,
surrounded by lifers.
These are for Jesse and Charley.
both boys will share their inheritance,
but these chairs are personal gifts.
My father, their source.
One he kept for himself
covered in green leather finished with brass tacks
I call it the club chair.
The other, a gift, salvaged from our computer room
where it had nearly not survived two decades
of rough and tumble. Shredded white leather,
scarred wood, uneven padding.
A cockfight chair. You sit reversed,
lean forward, rest your arms on the back,
Study the birds, with rapt attention.
Tony and I studied catalogues for fabrics.
I thought of leather but saw the ravages of age.
I honored the sensitivies' of my boys
who choose to not eat meat, you don't slaughter a nauga.
Both chairs are oxblood, finished in brass tacks a
legacy from Grandfather Charlie.
He made curtains and quality furniture.
Kelly Beller
2/9/04