i take a room

i take a room or it takes me. i bring one suitcase, that is all. i own little. trinkets from the war. these i leave at the bottom of the suitcase, in an old tin box. with mary’s papers. mary’s papers.

an old tin box. i am an old tin box. or do i wish i was buried in an old tin box? these are thoughts i do not share with anyone, even the doctor at the hospital. he always looked me in the eye. no one really does anymore, even here, at this hotel. hospital, hotel. places for people to rest. escape from everyday life. you have everything you need at a hotel, even one as lonely as this one.

outside, the trees are moaning. a chunk of snow slides from the roof and i know, instinctively, it’s fallen into the flowerbed with the irises, purple ladies. the garden is a mess of branches. the wind, the wind is my enemy. the wind is armed with memories.

*this post is dedicated to Lt. NE Wallace