The Empty Chair

There’s an empty chair at the table

where you preferred to sit.

Your plate always had dark meat and extra green bean casserole,

cracking jokes with that knife sharp wit.

There’s an empty chair by the Christmas tree,

where you’d relax and watch the lights.

You’d nurse a bit of whiskey,

just taking in the season on those silent nights.

There’s a chair in my living room,

where you’d watch holiday movies and recline.

A Christmas Story to Home Alone,

Christmas Vacation was your favorite though and it became mine.

There’s an empty spot in my heart,

where you used to reside.

Memories of you don’t quite fill that void,

and the holidays aren’t the same since you’ve died.

I make magic how I can in your memory,

and hope you can feel it where you are.

I like to imagine you’re somewhere in the skies,

perhaps on the Christmas star.