The Empty Chairs

I have celebrated Thanksgivings from the past,

With those who brought me here, me being the last.

Roasted herbed turkey,

Garlic mashed potatoes,

Setting the table just for them, a joyful repast.

Gazing over the candlelit feast,

Shared stories and laughter,

Memories unsurpassed.

Scents of sweet spices and sandalwood,

Dancing in the air.

A unique blend,

that only you too would share.

Honey glazed carrots, roasted almond string beans,

Pumpkin, pecan and apple pies too,

Vanilla bean ice cream that was king-size, a sweet surprise.

Coffee, tea and cider too.

It was always your menu,

Just the way you choose it.

For every holiday, it was all about you.

Photos and decorations hold flashbacks steadfast,

A faraway memory, like just yesterday,

sadly, time has passed.

The last few holidays were far from a blast,

With role reversal,

And a feeling that’s miscast.

My creators, in a recast.

A wobble here and there,

the music of laughter,

replaced by your breath’s broadcast,

A struggle was coming,

too fast, felt like a dramatic forecast.

Deep into reflections of carefree days.

A child once cared for,

Now an orphan in many ways.

Years ticked by too fast, don’t want to grasp.

The curtain call has closed,

Death the final act,

in this well-known play.

I drop my head.

A silent cry echoing for all to hear,

my creators in spirit, will not be

at my table, alas!

A setting of eight will be there,

For your spirits will sit,

always to be part of my Thanksgiving affair.

Thank you for reading.

This was originally posted Medium.