Some Chair When the mouths of men turn down at the corners and leak lies or some too-true truths, my brain stem twists into a throbbing knot, and it's hard to breathe or stand or think. But some chair is always there to catch me hard like passing out, the air heaving from my lungs in a quick thud- or to catch me soft like a hand-made quilt, wrapping me in a cocoon of forgetful oblivion… Always some chair, constant as a mother, holding me until I find my legs, embracing me until the room stops spinning. kmb 09/02