Elevator Blues

Elevator Blues

As I rode down the snail’s pace of our “new” elevator in my Manhattan co-op today, the doors popped open just two floors below.  A neighbor, not unfamiliar to me, stepped in.  She and I were cloaked in our winter best – full-scale fluffy body armor to battle the frigid freezing temps outside.  Zipped up, tucked in, gloved and hovering, we nodded hello and stared at the doors that did not close. And did not close.  And did not close.  I gently pushed the “door close” button as the bile inside began to rise with subtle trepidation.  The awkward moment of silence with nowhere to stare as fleece-lined hats subverted our peripheral vision and drew a line in the proverbial sand between us.  Feeling foolish by our inability to even look at each other, much less connect, I tilted my head sideways, hoping to glance a smile or role my eyes in commiseration with a fellow survivor of this crotchety old machine’s inconsistencies.  Alas no, she stared straight down and waited patiently for the doors to finally close.

We rode slowly along the descending floors as my spirits began to sink a little, for the utter and complete lack of any creative words to share with my neighbor, my fellow passenger in this steady, albeit creaky, unpredictable life.  As the doors finally opened, she scurried along, almost running ahead to her destination, her obstacles, the commitments of her day.  I paused to let the front door close and stared through the glass wondering… when did I lose my ability to connect?

I waltzed through my day slowly, with eyes wide open, and found inside me a sense of longing, which almost always inspires inside me some poetic words, some lyrical insights. I share some with you now from a poem of mine aptly named “I vacillate”:

I vacillate

  between Love and Longing

like a metronome

  I adore and miss You

The magic of the clock we create

  Time hovers

and then it’s gone

  A hot air balloon

fueled

  by the rare and shiny stone

called sharing

  Togetherness

of time zones, moments, minds

  Limbs that find the fullness

of their height

  Holes that find filling

Gestures that reunite

  a depth of clarity – expression unrefined

Pure and easy satisfaction

  until you’re gone

and Loss

  is mine…

©2011 DOS

The excerpts of all of the poems presented in this blog are copyright protected, as each and every poem has been copyrighted.   For a complete copy of any poem, feel free to email your request to: duvallosteennyc@gmail.com.