The Spare Chair

I used to leave a chair between myself and anyone who came. A coat would do. A folded paper. Something with no questions and no need to know my name. Today I moved my notebook. It was no grand decision. The kettle clicked. A spoon fell in the kitchen. Somebody asked if this seat had been taken. I said no. We spoke about the weather, which had been doing nothing worth a conversation, then about a bird outside that neither of us could confidently name. I did not tell my story. They did not ask. We watched the bird pull something from the lawn and lose it, then begin again. Afterward, I left the chair where it was.