Magritte’s Chair

 

Magritte’s Chair

 

The first object I knew

Was an antique deck chair

Which had come from one of the early fleets to the colonies

It cast menacing shadows

Between my room

& mum & dad’s

Waking from my night terrors

The chair lived between the dream world

& the waking world

It deeply frightened me

That chair

As if it held the ghosts of horrors witnessed

Evidently I was a surrealist at 1 or 2

 

Between the terror of my nightmares

& the safety of mum’s arms

The chair was an even more terrifying obstacle

I had to get past

It was alive with dark energy

As I say its shadows were nerve chilling

Mum pinned different upholstery to its cushions

It helped a little

Anyway eventually I grew out of that phase

As I was socialised into treating objects as inanimate

& not carriers of spirits

I grew up

& grew a tough exterior

Which little could penetrate

Problem is

Nothing could escape either

& so I’m in a process

Of letting some love in

& some love out

The world works against it

& it’s an ongoing struggle

I’m sorry I’m so hidden

My love

I’m sorry I’m so stiff

All the talking I do

Directs around & around the edges

Never seeming to penetrate the central truth of my heart

It always seems to elude me

As terrified of intimacy

As I was of that chair

Intimacy so often desecrated

Intimacy so full of hope's lies

The fear that intimacy might wash me away

A crazy man's intimacy desperate to be sane

Fear that my madness might injure with duality

Unable to trust myself

I throw myself at others

To entertain them

Unable to trust them

Terrified of being seen

& terrified of seeing the real thing

I'm frightened of love

I'm frightened of honesty

Lived my whole life pleasing

Walking on eggshells

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.