Sit

I’ve noticed how there are certain people who say, when you enter their house,
have a seat.

Regardless of the time, or the plans, or the tidiness of the front room.
They are comfortable in the knowledge that you want to
sit in their house. They are confident that you have the
time to spare, that you have to be
nowhere in particular, that you have been looking for somewhere to sit and
this place
must be the place. I wonder what these people feel like
inside. I wonder how it is,
to have this certainty. I wonder what it’s like not to assume that a person coming into our house must be on their way,
immediately,
that they may not be affronted by an offer
to sit,
that if they were
to want to sit
then they would do so
in their own living room,
on their own time,
and not now,
certainly not now,
unplanned, unscheduled,
for an indeterminate amount of time.
I wonder what it might feel like to open the door to someone
and that be the time,
right then,
that the day lays across the floor its downy bed for both parties to stop for a minute,
as if it’s the weekend and as if we are the type of people who have
nowhere to go,
nothing tedious to see to,
and lean back,
insouciant to anything else,
and meet ourselves where we are.