Empty Chairs

Empty empty empty

so many empty chairs

everywhere. They look

charming in van Gogh’s paintings.

I quietly sit on them

and try to rock

but they don’t move —

they are frozen

by what’s breathing inside them.

Van Gogh waves his paintbrush —

leave leave leave

there’s no funeral tonight.

He looks straight through me,

and I sit down

in the flames of   his sunflower

like a piece of clay to be fired.