Motel, Oregon
by Sophie Klahr
we鈥檇 rent the coastal room in an attempt
to say goodbye again as if聽 聽 聽 聽 eros-
聽 聽ion could help us to undo what we had
done 聽 聽 聽 聽 again 聽 聽 聽 聽 we鈥檇 try to craft an ending
聽 聽eat cheap potato chips and cottage cheese
the way he did the year his mother died
cradling her gun 聽 聽 聽 聽 and the sound pushed him off-
shore...聽 聽each room聽 聽 聽 聽 strangulation and harbor
聽 聽we tried 聽 聽 聽one day I鈥檒l leave not you but all
this:聽 聽 聽 those rooms that had never been under
my name聽 聽 聽 聽the way I could run my hand in
聽聽 聽 聽 聽聽 聽 聽 longing to conjure a body I knew
so well I thought it home.聽 聽where o?聽 聽 we left
all that 聽 聽 聽 we made our bed聽 聽 聽 and lied in it
鈥淚 will put Chaos into fourteen lines,鈥� begins a sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay. For five years, I had an affair with another writer, also a poet. In years since, writing sonnets has offered 鈥渁 momentary stay against confusion,鈥� as Frost suggests poems might. Engaging meter is a type of meditation, a psychic shelter. One鈥檚 history is embedded in the present, and when deep trauma is a piece of that history, the past can rule the present almost as if on puppet strings. Sometimes you can see the strings, and sometimes you can鈥檛. It happened too that language would slip between us sometimes, a bright thread we each claimed鈥攊t happens here. Isn鈥檛 that a game show鈥�Whose Line Is It Anyway? Motel rooms were rare for us, but it was mostly in these rooms that we鈥檇 try to break up. This poem is a missive from the other side of one of those doors. Willingness is the key.
is the author of Meet Me Here At Dawn (YesYes Books, 2016) and聽the chapbook _____ Versus Recovery. Her poetry appears in The New Yorker, The聽American Poetry Review, Ploughshares,听础骋狈滨听and other publications.