Home Poetry Furniture is nothing but a commodity 

Furniture is nothing but a commodity 

by Stephanie Alfaia

And on the third day
I sat on my mother’s sofa
Listening to Shag Rock
Sunbleached Girl –
a tune Spotify found to be appropriate.
I must be dreaming of waves
And listening, remembering the days
Where a cold beer and my toes buried
In the sand overwhelmed me with a sense
Of euphoria – one step closer to
The sun.

I feel my heavy black purse brushing against
My left arm as I type
On my iPhone
Rather than old ink
On hemp paper, scrolling
Off the typewriter that’s sitting
Across town.
How. I. Miss. You.

To my right I see nothing.
Nothing in place of space for five.
That’s the thing about space
You can always fit one
But you risk remnant emptiness.
Except a few colored pillows

You see,
This sofa reminds me of Mike
I know I said I would never write about
Temporary people
But that’s all I write about.
So listen here.
You see,
Mike may have loved me
But he loved me wrong
He walked into my empty home
My family’s empty home
My family of three darling.
He walked in and saw a large empty space
That empty living room.
And felt the need to fill it
With things.
This piece and that
Furniture his wealthy Greek cousins
Placed outside their door.
Pieces we didn’t have.

His biggest mistake
Was trying to fill a void.
A space he was not welcome in.

And so he carried every inch of the
Gray twelve person soft threads I
Find myself sitting on;
With his roommate who was nothing
But a racist best friend willing to do anything
For a good laugh.
Helping the Latin girl with the big ass
And he did laugh as they struggled up the stairs.
And all I could think of was
“God, if you exist, please help me hide”
But they carried on flight by flight
Until our empty living room was filled.
The most embarrassing day of my life.
When I suddenly looked over
And found the room filled
With furniture from the man
I knew
Was cheating on me with a
Russian lingerie model.
Rachel was her name
Or Raquel, if you’d like to be correct
And drive me insane.

Ah but the blushing was soon over,
When the off the boat Greek
Finally sat down on the
Unfortunately, insanely comfortable
Sofa that was once left in the rain.
Comfort I hate to admit even four years later.
Even with a Macalan
Chased with cigarettes and cocaine
I remember.
Darling, I will never forget the day
He asked me to pay
To pay for the sofa
To pay for caring
To pay for asking
To pay for wanting him to be mine
“Who is Raquel?”
“Sophie, just pay me back for the sofa and we don’t have to go through this.”


© Magnified Reflections 2013
all rights reserved

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