1.
What I'm doing is not complaining or bemoaning,
I'm just sitting down and writing what there is now, and
sometimes letting it take me where it wants to. It's neither, and both,
a documentary and a fictionalized account of some portion of somebody's life.
The housekeeper, now, is knocking rapidly on the door.
"Housekeeping" she says.
"Yeah" I reply.
"Do you need anything?"
"I'm ok."
The housekeeper is knocking urgently upon my door.
"Housekeeping" she whispers desperately.
"Yeah" I reply, opening the door.
"I need something" she says - breathless, terrified - falling into my arms.
"You're ok" and I lock the door behind her.
There's snow on the car windshields - a big event. I'm the only one sitting in the hotel lobby drinking coffee looking out. The new girl who sets up breakfast is a little bored, she told me, no one is coming down. She is young, early 20's, open and unselfconscious. Her openness kind of embarrassess me, makes me ashamed for noticing her womanhood. I change myself into an older man - fatherly, harmless. She tells me she works five hours and then she's out of here. I go back to staring out the window.
She is sweeping to kill time. The sound of the bristles against the floor is gentle and slow. And then, for a moment, we are in bed. My head is at rest upon her belly. Her finger tips move through my hair and along my scalp with the same gentle rhythm as the broom. Her touch, right now, is everything.
She is sweeping to kill time. The sound of the bristles against the floor is gentle and slow. And then, for a moment, I am propped upright in a hospital bed. The nurse passes a comb slowly through my hair and along my scalp with the same gentle rhythm as the broom. Her touch, right now, is everything.
She is sweeping to kill time. The sound of the bristles against the floor is gentle and slow. She is quietly singing along to a country love song playing overhead. She stops to drink juice, and after her last swallow, makes a small "ahh".
I ride the elevator to the second floor thinking that you really have to starve to appreciate what love tastes like.
2.
I still want to be the man who found you walking through the city with just one shoe. He was kind enough to notice, bold enough to approach you, generous enough to go and buy you a new pair.
You are seated there on a bench waiting. I am crouching before you unboxing the shoes. I offer the first one. With slight hesitation, you place your toes inside. We move together in opposing directions, my whole body tingling, you carefully sliding your foot into the shoe, and I carefully sliding the shoe onto your foot. Everything is silence. Everything inside me stops.
Awe.
Love?
I must be dying. Or flying? I'm burning. No, I'm soaring.
I'm alive - entirely.
I don't ever want to be anywhere else. Immediately, I understand I must never lose this.
Oh no. I'm lost.
We might both be suddenly embarrassed by the intimacy of the moment, like the time I walked you out with the singer overheard singing "ohh-oh, your sex is on fire", and my heart pounding so heavy and slow in my chest.
Or maybe we'd both laugh giddily at the silliness of the situation, the sudden unexpected closeness.
Perhaps we'd be stunned, looking into each other's eyes with seriousness, not understanding exactly what is coming into being.
Maybe you'd see my love and quickly avert your eyes, resorting to convention and politeness, thanking me for my efforts, offering me money, hurrying on your way, leaving me to watch after you long, long after you'd gone out of sight.
However it turned out, I'd probably remain a prisoner of that moment forever. Like I am to a few now.
What I'm doing is not complaining or bemoaning,
I'm just sitting down and writing what there is now, and
sometimes letting it take me where it wants to. It's neither, and both,
a documentary and a fictionalized account of some portion of somebody's life.
The housekeeper, now, is knocking rapidly on the door.
"Housekeeping" she says.
"Yeah" I reply.
"Do you need anything?"
"I'm ok."
The housekeeper is knocking urgently upon my door.
"Housekeeping" she whispers desperately.
"Yeah" I reply, opening the door.
"I need something" she says - breathless, terrified - falling into my arms.
"You're ok" and I lock the door behind her.
There's snow on the car windshields - a big event. I'm the only one sitting in the hotel lobby drinking coffee looking out. The new girl who sets up breakfast is a little bored, she told me, no one is coming down. She is young, early 20's, open and unselfconscious. Her openness kind of embarrassess me, makes me ashamed for noticing her womanhood. I change myself into an older man - fatherly, harmless. She tells me she works five hours and then she's out of here. I go back to staring out the window.
She is sweeping to kill time. The sound of the bristles against the floor is gentle and slow. And then, for a moment, we are in bed. My head is at rest upon her belly. Her finger tips move through my hair and along my scalp with the same gentle rhythm as the broom. Her touch, right now, is everything.
She is sweeping to kill time. The sound of the bristles against the floor is gentle and slow. And then, for a moment, I am propped upright in a hospital bed. The nurse passes a comb slowly through my hair and along my scalp with the same gentle rhythm as the broom. Her touch, right now, is everything.
She is sweeping to kill time. The sound of the bristles against the floor is gentle and slow. She is quietly singing along to a country love song playing overhead. She stops to drink juice, and after her last swallow, makes a small "ahh".
I ride the elevator to the second floor thinking that you really have to starve to appreciate what love tastes like.
2.
I still want to be the man who found you walking through the city with just one shoe. He was kind enough to notice, bold enough to approach you, generous enough to go and buy you a new pair.
You are seated there on a bench waiting. I am crouching before you unboxing the shoes. I offer the first one. With slight hesitation, you place your toes inside. We move together in opposing directions, my whole body tingling, you carefully sliding your foot into the shoe, and I carefully sliding the shoe onto your foot. Everything is silence. Everything inside me stops.
Awe.
Love?
I must be dying. Or flying? I'm burning. No, I'm soaring.
I'm alive - entirely.
I don't ever want to be anywhere else. Immediately, I understand I must never lose this.
Oh no. I'm lost.
We might both be suddenly embarrassed by the intimacy of the moment, like the time I walked you out with the singer overheard singing "ohh-oh, your sex is on fire", and my heart pounding so heavy and slow in my chest.
Or maybe we'd both laugh giddily at the silliness of the situation, the sudden unexpected closeness.
Perhaps we'd be stunned, looking into each other's eyes with seriousness, not understanding exactly what is coming into being.
Maybe you'd see my love and quickly avert your eyes, resorting to convention and politeness, thanking me for my efforts, offering me money, hurrying on your way, leaving me to watch after you long, long after you'd gone out of sight.
However it turned out, I'd probably remain a prisoner of that moment forever. Like I am to a few now.
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