And This Is You

You wake up rooms. When you walk in the door, everything cheers. Welcome! Whatever you look at swoons in the glow of your attention: people, tables, memories, spoons. Yes. Even spoons. The spoon you ate your soup with was instantly in love, lived only to serve you, to be with your hand, to touch your lips—it’s still, to this very day, writing poems that mourn your loss. Everything aches for your lively gaze. The whole room is tense, trembling, waiting to arise in your view. The menu sings. The smug table mocks the others. Your glass of wine gasps with every single sip. And the floor—the wooden floor’s past and future cohere with meaning in the event of propping your stance, your walk, and the booth in which you sit. It recalls its origins, built by cursing men with swinging hammers, aware of its inevitable demolition, all unquestionably justified by the presence of your feet. And the people, men and women alike, see you and forget themselves. They are ghosts with no memories. They can’t look you in the eye. They feel like weeping and can’t say why. The flickering candle is humbled, silent, content to merely light the way.

Don’t wonder who this is about. It’s about you. You wake up rooms.   

Comments

Really really good.

Good one.

God damn it,

crazy mad in love with your writing

You. I love (it). Sounds weird, but might be true.

this is gorgeous.

I spent part of this weekend collecting spoons and making art with them.

I was pretty sure they were smiling, but I had no idea about the swooning. That's exciting.

And the piano has been drinking. Or to move it to this entry's turf, you intoxicate pianos.

I love Palinode's comment almost as much as I love this post.

I love the spoon, I'm just not IN love with it. Sorry.

I'll take it.

You wake up something inside my head. Not sure what...

this post was perfect. sometimes your writing is frighteningly elegant. you have a fantastic economy with words.

oh and also, the Palinode leaves the best comments in the history of comment-leaving. that's all.

these words, dammit; well now i'm thinking of Spoon by dave matthews. what can i say? can't resist me a violin. and 90's tunes. apparently.

And here I thought my farts only waked the dog!

Almost makes me wish I was the floor. Lovely.

I'm coming out from my lurk to say this ...

THIS is why I was sure you wouldn't cut my head off.

bam. on the floor. dead.

you wake up rooms.

this is one of my faves from you!

Your writing has often moved me, sometimes to tears. This is the first time it has physically struck me and drew blood. Bravo, maestro. Bravo.