Grandma’s Armchair by Amy Lee
A deep layer of grim coats the red armchair.
Its soft fabric has ragged, and the vibrant red
fades away, into a smokey grey. Dust flutters
around the armchair drizzling down from the
mucky rooftop ceiling, and floating through
the damp air. A musty odor of decay rises
from its old wooden legs. Algae grows along
the grubby walls before the chair, and Grandma's
golden framed portrait hangs on the concrete
walls. I remember years ago, when I had lived
with Grandma. She would sit in her armchair
knitting hats for the winter, and I would curl
against the red carpet she had knitted for me.
Every christmas day, she would call me to sit
against her armchair, and she would sing me
the same carol she had sung for every past year.
But this year, I sit alone in her empty chair.
Amy Lee is a thirteen-year-old student who is currently attending International School of Manila. During her free time, she likes hanging out with her friends and reading books while listening to music. Her works have been accepted in Heritage review, Uppagus, and others.