chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

Tag Archives: hotel

found poem: dusk

found poem: we are

found poem: THE FOG


hotel hallwayThey have never met, will never meet, but the threads of their lives knit together row upon row. The accident of conferences, interviews, exhibitions, brings them from their distant homes to this place, or another, yet keeps them strangers to each other. This once, by chance, they occupy adjoining rooms in the hotel.

In his, daytime TV flashes its soundless images and his laptop sits open on the small desk. His clothes, just enough for the meeting, the dinner, the night and the trip home, are hung in the closet or placed neatly in the large drawer below the television. His small carry-on suitcase stands in the closet between a single pair of shoes and an ironing board. The curtains are closed. The bed is untouched, the little card with instructions about saving water still propped against the pillow. He sits in the single chair talking on his cell phone.

In hers, every light is on, the curtains are open, and her enormous suitcase yawns empty on the bed. Its contents — clothes, yarn, strips of leather, fabrics, thread, lace, tied packets of letters, rice paper, paste and innumerable cloth envelopes of buttons, shells, words clipped from magazines, doll-house-size furniture, antique bottle caps and garage sale jewelry — she has gathered in her arms and dropped in a heap on the floor. Struggling with the window, which opens only about two inches, she lights a cigarette, blows smoke through the gap and surveys the pile…
photo by Ian Bogost

%d bloggers like this: