I drove out on Sunday night to the library
Books to return.
The night was warm and dark and unusually still
Few cars, fewer people
Like an apocalypse had happened
And only the lucky and the damned were left
Or perhaps like Mars had been colonized
And everyone was there, instead
The radio was off
I wanted to listen to the silence of the night
And the unusual silence in my mind
Quietude after a long day of mental work to prepare for the coming of the morrow
I pulled into the parking lot
And parked outside the 5 steps leading to the main doors
Was a wheelchair
The brakes were off and there was no occupant
It was no more than 5 inches from the first step
And it was perfectly still
I got out cautiously
Examined the chair from all sides
Taking it all in, not touching it
Like a proto-human examining the black obelisk
In Clarke’s “2001”
It was incongruous sitting there
It didn’t make sense
It had no context
Because it had no occupant
It was like finding the empty throne of a divine king
At the bottom of a swimming pool
It made no visual sense
And was harder to look at than you might think
It was mysterious and somehow spooky
I was tempted to search the skies
Perhaps some giant bird or black winged creature swooped down
And snatched the occupant from this chair
Just a few moments before I arrived.
I could lay my hand upon the seat…
Sense for body heat…
But that would mean touching something
That had no business being here
I looked around
No one.
Nothing.
Not even any cars passing by.
Certainly no one lying down who was obviously in need of a wheelchair
I looked into the library through the large windows
Rows and rows and rows of books
Standing neatly at attention
Like unearthed clay Chinese soldiers
Everything was so still that it almost hurt to look
I expected my eyes to play tricks on me
To glimpse something quick and shadowy
Flit from one shelf to another
And disappear when I turned my head to see
Had I seen something
Even something imaginary
Move in there, I’d have felt better
But nothing moved
Like I could come back in ten thousand years
And everything would be exactly the same
I could almost feel the residue of human energy left in this place
From people milling about quietly
Handling books
Taking down, putting back
Opening, examining, closing
And their sudden, complete and infinite stillness
Felt like a blanket wrapped around my chest
Like the wheelchair
It seemed that these books were waiting for something
Like they were waiting for me to take my leave
So they could continue on with their business
Some deepnight magic not meant for the vision of human eyes
They seemed to say
Go ahead, boy, stare as long as you like
We’re not moving…
…not until you go away.
Books to return.
The night was warm and dark and unusually still
Few cars, fewer people
Like an apocalypse had happened
And only the lucky and the damned were left
Or perhaps like Mars had been colonized
And everyone was there, instead
The radio was off
I wanted to listen to the silence of the night
And the unusual silence in my mind
Quietude after a long day of mental work to prepare for the coming of the morrow
I pulled into the parking lot
And parked outside the 5 steps leading to the main doors
Was a wheelchair
The brakes were off and there was no occupant
It was no more than 5 inches from the first step
And it was perfectly still
I got out cautiously
Examined the chair from all sides
Taking it all in, not touching it
Like a proto-human examining the black obelisk
In Clarke’s “2001”
It was incongruous sitting there
It didn’t make sense
It had no context
Because it had no occupant
It was like finding the empty throne of a divine king
At the bottom of a swimming pool
It made no visual sense
And was harder to look at than you might think
It was mysterious and somehow spooky
I was tempted to search the skies
Perhaps some giant bird or black winged creature swooped down
And snatched the occupant from this chair
Just a few moments before I arrived.
I could lay my hand upon the seat…
Sense for body heat…
But that would mean touching something
That had no business being here
I looked around
No one.
Nothing.
Not even any cars passing by.
Certainly no one lying down who was obviously in need of a wheelchair
I looked into the library through the large windows
Rows and rows and rows of books
Standing neatly at attention
Like unearthed clay Chinese soldiers
Everything was so still that it almost hurt to look
I expected my eyes to play tricks on me
To glimpse something quick and shadowy
Flit from one shelf to another
And disappear when I turned my head to see
Had I seen something
Even something imaginary
Move in there, I’d have felt better
But nothing moved
Like I could come back in ten thousand years
And everything would be exactly the same
I could almost feel the residue of human energy left in this place
From people milling about quietly
Handling books
Taking down, putting back
Opening, examining, closing
And their sudden, complete and infinite stillness
Felt like a blanket wrapped around my chest
Like the wheelchair
It seemed that these books were waiting for something
Like they were waiting for me to take my leave
So they could continue on with their business
Some deepnight magic not meant for the vision of human eyes
They seemed to say
Go ahead, boy, stare as long as you like
We’re not moving…
…not until you go away.
4 comments:
Wow...bloody amazing poem.
Love it
There is a certain lesson to be learned from stillness. A fluidity that is slower than we can perceive, but still moving... patience.
Pretty incredible story there, O!
Hey! What about "bloody amazing"? I thought that was a, how do you say it? Good'un?
This poem is Steven King-esque. Creepy and beautiful. It's like the beginning of a story.
I'm glad the poem won. However, I don't think the question is cake or poem, rather should it be a horror novel, suspense novel or post-apocalyptic novel. Maybe even a vampire novel.
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