Ode to Open Floors

Ode to Open Floors

If I had a dollar for every time she saw an empty room, saying,
if only I had my roller skates, I’d have roughly ten bucks. Instead
it merely springs to mind at the sight of warehouses, unfinished basements
and big box stores where, upon staying too long, you might begin to believe
that the undergrowth of the jungle is modeled after Ikea’s
plant room, where a monstera trails like a weed and
the capybara is a stuffed thing in this children’s room we call
world. This, and the fact that the Amazon

is the closest I’ve been to Oslo. Clenched
in a canoe, bees like mortars from the tree line.
Don’t move, they want to hurt you.
Our chance companions being picture perfect Scandinavians —
a live action Rockwell with accents and four yellow shirts,
matching the cocoa fruit that dapples
every tree above the native farmer, sweeping
the loose dirt of the jungle farm. This forest floor empty
as a 7th grade dance

where that one kid, the one we claimed we didn’t understand because
it made things easier, braved the middle of
the floor, hunched like a mountain, arm striking like a UFC disco.
It’s the lawnmower. He shouted.
It’s the lawnmower. We shouted.
Sweat flung like sparks from his headband
and, over time, we encroached like blackberries
after his blaze.

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D and I went to the park the other night and laid down a blanket in a redwood grove. Entering these groves has a particularly striking effect after walking through the typical northwest forest floor. It feels akin to the difference between Chicago where there is space around every building and New York, where the density is breathtaking. Anyway, we brushed some sticks to the side before laying down the blanket and I think that is what led me to remember the Amazon forest farm… or maybe I’ve just been sweeping a lot this week…? (Some fun sounds from the Amazon in this post).

There are blackberries on most sidewalks right now. Needless to say, walks now take longer. Yum.

Maybe this is secretly another interior decorator poem (like this one). I find it ironic that Scandinavian design has infiltrated both coffeeshops and the world of house plants when the climate couldn’t be more different from coffee farms and the jungle, where most houseplants thrive.

“We call world” being so close to the image of the Amazon is probably a subconscious homage to Ursula K Le Guin’s “the word for world is forest.”

I’ll give you two guesses at who always wants to roller skate.
… Yup, it’s my mom.

Currently Reading:

• Translating Rilke by William Gass

• There’s Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension by Hanif Abdurraqib

• The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

• Some collections by Fanny Howe

• I’m really enjoying the new album by Ryan Davis and the Roadhouse Band. Loving the lyrics on this song specifically.

Thanks for reading Into Wind. If you’re not already subscribed, you can do that below. You can also pass this poem on to someone you think might enjoy it. The best way to support art is to art again.

Lastly, you can pick up a copy of my new book Kestrel and other songs here.