What Things Are Made Of

Places I Spent One Night

84 Places I Spent One Night Thanks to all motels, hotels, and couches-at-a-friend’s where, nearly comatose, I collapsed to sleep— but also to the places where I thrashed all night: bed too hard, sheets too scratchy, day ahead too jangling. Thanks to the roofs that once kept snow from freezing me. I understand how kings could feel, of any site that saw their bathroom acts and heard them snore: “It’s mine.” Walls that enclosed me, closets that shooed wrinkles from my shirts, drawers that caressed my underwear, floor that supported me, I won’t forget you. Porches I was too rushed, oak paneling I was too tired to enjoy, garages that never got to show their stuff—I’m sorry that I had to go. Rules of the House taped to the purring Frigidaire that could have cooled ice cream I never got to eat on place mats hand-painted with thunderbird motifs— framed prints of mountains, seascapes, sweet Strawberry Creek—we’d have spent more time together; but business tugged me like a gut-hooked fish. Thanks, barbecues I didn’t light, ready to flame up and grill a perfect steak. Thanks, driveways I’ll never back out of again, swimming pools I came too late to try, couches that sagged in the middle or to one side, mismatched coat-hangers, and always one locked door, hiding who knows what skeletons, pirate doubloons, or universes where my doubles lounge on redwood porches, charcoaling thick steaks and staring out at yet-to-be-experienced worlds where Time’s fist—clenched so tight in this world—opens wide. ...