This sofa from my friend Tatia

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It's from my friend Tatia
This sofa
Three years ago she broke up with her boyfriend
Sold everything, and split the money
I was new to Sydney, just moving to my own place
Happy to buy second hand, pre-loved
Post-love
New beginnings from the vestiges of broken relationships
What remains of love when it 'ends'
Still love.

This sofa from my friend Tatia
It's been three years
I'm giving up on it
I'm letting it go
Or so I thought
My back already aches, one vertebra by vertebra
Must be the years, must be Netflix or must be the chill that went with Netflix and chill
I was supposed to throw it away
Dump it in the trash
It has served me well
I'm not bitter even if it starts to hurt
Broken bones are better than broken hearts.
But I'm salvaging it from total damnation
I have a balcony, perhaps it can occupy that space

This sofa from my friend Tatia
From broken hearts, to broken bones, to witnessing broken people passing by below my vista
I sit here at night
With a glass of cheap red, a merlot
Unlike wine, furniture don't get better with time
Ikea
They absorb too much weight, they get weary
But just like all broken things, and broken hearts, and broken people
They can still be passed on
Or relocated
Until they no longer serve their purpose
That's the only time you throw them away
Away from you
Only to land onto someone else's world, or heaven, or hell
Beggars.

This sofa from my friend Tatia
I'm still holding on to you
Maybe more poems, more tears, more naps and dreams
Will spring forth from your pre-loved frame.

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