A Room
Like This
There
are ways of moving through things
like this. Just lately I have found myself
restless to wake up
in unfamiliar surroundings; to wake, for example,
in some dirty hotel room, wipe the sleep from my eyes
in the half light, momentarily
unsure of where I am
or why. To lay for a moment, observing
the details of the room, remembering
the circumstances of my arrival.
Listening to the light
rain outside. The traffic moving through it.
Then to rise naked from bed, draw back
the mouldy curtains and expose the people
below. To light a cigarette. Wonder
about what it is that propels us onward
in the face of so many reasons
not to move onward. It takes a room
like this, early morning rain, cigarettes
in the half light, to help a man
reach certain conclusions. Like the one about
remembering to forget. There are ways
of moving through things.
This is just one of the ways. There are others.
Copyright © 2001 Glenn W. Cooper
