Seated
It’s how he saw them
How he painted their portraits
Watched them walk, creaking, stiff
Not really going anywhere
He saw them lumber
Saw the lumber that made them up
Standing was such hard work
Being human was such hard work
Take your rest, he suggested
And they would come to him
Slowly bend knees, back straight
They would relax into rigidity
Chests would open
First exposing lungs, heart, bones
Then they would disintegrate
Till there were two long columns
Columns you could see through
Their backs turned into chair
Rods holding their shoulders up
Shafts pinned into hips
They became merged flesh and wood
Grew legs out of their behinds
More chair then human now
Though their heads remained intact
Eyes darting, mouths moving
He saw them and painted their truth
That they were unable to move
To move out of their own existence
Elizabeth Rosell lives in Northern Ontario, Canada, with her cat Belle. She has spent her life working in the non-profit field, inspired by her own mental health issues with borderline personality disorder. Elizabeth has been published in Lived Magazine, Amsterdam Quarterly and Literary Cocktail. When not writing, she spends her spare time crafting and baking.