I can hear the television blaring
and I just want silence
or chaos
or maybe
just a cup of coffee;
the kind you’d tell me
to go make a fresh pot of
when I would drop by,
without knocking, and
without an invitation
to sit in that chair,
the one with the not-hardly
but probably-once-was
tan fabric
worn on the sides
from how I’d sit:
comfortably, but not how I ought to,
you’d say.
We’d watch television
for hours on end—
that is, when we would
actually break from chit-chat
to pay attention to
all those dumb shows
with people
far worse off than you or me.
Watching television there,
in that chair
across from you,
made my going home
seem something less like
grieving.
Originally published in the Winter 2014 issue of The Summerset Review
http://www.summersetreview.org/14winter/nix.html
Rachel Nix 
The last stanza ❤ I love how simply you tell stories 🙂 And you, of course.
Thank you, you sweet girl. ❤
You are welcome. 🙂
Bam! Great job. Couldn’t stop reading. 🙂
Thanks so much! It means all the more when readers appreciate the personal ones. 🙂
Reblogged this on Anaes and commented:
I like this poem a lot. Makes me think of myself at my dad’s or grandpa’s place.
Thank you very much!
You’re welcome.
Great post thannk you
Thanks kindly for reading.