Consider, for a minute, the chairs that nobody sits in. "You see them on porches and lawns," writes poet Billy Collins, in his new collection Aimless Love
. "Down by the lakeside, usually arranged in pairs, implying a couple." What would happen, Collins asks, if everyone sat down in them? Not
to look out at the water or enjoy the sunset but, "only for the sake of remembering what it was they thought they deserved to view..." What did you imagine lay ahead when you were 14 or 24 or 34 or 44 or even last year: A writer's studio? A child fishing on the gravel? Your best friend calling you over? Is the view still the same? Has it changed? Or did you put it aside—and why?