Tag: motels

Niagara by Erika Meitner

meitner
Two Towels. Photograph by Alec Soth. Image used with permission. View Soth’s photography project Niagara

White towels folded into swans
‡‡with their heads touching —
‡‡‡their hearted bodies trail

the floral bedspread: polyester,
‡‡used over and over again.
‡‡‡The bed itself casts a shadow

on the desolate paneling,
‡‡O bed. O motel. O girl
‡‡‡in white pants — you are voluminous

and shine like the yellow doors
‡‡on rows of identical love shacks
‡‡‡punctuated with all-weather

The Voyageur.  Photograph by Alec Soth. Image used with permission. View Soth’s photography project Niagara

lawn-chairs out front.
‡‡Clouds ride past the pool,
‡‡‡faces of brick, the oil stains

on parking lot asphalt.
‡‡Did someone teach you
‡‡‡to park in a place like this,

between two white parallel
‡‡lines stretched like arms
‡‡‡saying, Come here? In the grass

behind the dumpster you lay
‡‡your head on his pale, shirtless
‡‡‡chest. On his skin, warm as

melted butter. It is the blue hour,
‡‡floating on quiet water, after
‡‡‡the sun sets, before it gets dark.

Love on damp pavement. Love
‡‡with sanitized glasses wrapped
‡‡‡in paper. Love in the violent mist.

Tricia and Curtis.  Photograph by Alec Soth. Image used with permission. View Soth’s photography project Niagara

In the velvet night. He kisses
‡‡the soles of your feet. O girl
‡‡‡in white. Be good and take care.

I haven’t fallen like that in a very long time.

Note: This poem is based on photographer Alec Soth’s photography project of the same name. Click here to view it.

Source: Indiana Review, vol. 32, issue 1 (summer 2010)

Also published in Meitner’s Copia, BOA Editions, 2014

Visit Erika Meitner ‘s website

Erika Meitner is the author of five books of poems, including Ideal Cities (HarperCollins,
2010), which was a 2009 National Poetry series winner; Copia (BOA Editions, 2014); and
Holy Moly Carry Me (BOA Editions, 2018), which won the 2018 National Jewish Book
Award in Poetry, and was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. Her sixth
book of poems, Useful Junk, is forthcoming from BOA Editions in 2022. Meitner’s poems
have been anthologized widely, and have appeared in publications including Best
American Poetry, Ploughshares, Virginia Quarterly Review, The New York Times
Magazine, The New Republic, and Tin House. Other honors include fellowships from
MacDowell, the Wisconsin Institute for Creative Writing, the Virginia Center for the
Creative Arts, the Hermitage Artist Retreat, and Blue Mountain Center. She was also the
2015 US-UK Fulbright Distinguished Scholar in Creative Writing at the Seamus Heaney
Centre for Poetry at Queen’s University Belfast. Meitner is currently a professor of English
at Virginia Tech.

 

Niagara Falls 1972 (revised version) by Richard H. Fox


engine squeals, fan belt slaps severing all ties
   the gas pedal becomes a foot rest
in fading twilight two pairs of feet track neon winks
   thunderclaps drown their steps
they sprint through puddles giggling and shivering
   register as man and wife in the motel shack

their cabin has one twin bed
    she hangs wet blouse and jeans - "I'll shower first if that's ok"
he dangles wet t-shirt and cuttoffs next to hers

she emerges wearing a white towel
       drapes it over the headboard
                  raises the patchwork quilt
                              folds back the sheets
                                         arranges the pillows
                                                    slips into bed

he retreats into the bathroom
slides off underwear
lets hot stream douse hair
wraps towel round waist
leans on tub patting forehead cheeks chin...
opens door flips towel on dresser
jumps under covers

she smiles -
         "Are you ok?
                   You look nervous."

        he met her, a college ride board refugee, at breakfast sixteen hours ago;
        her  other sat  opposite pulling on the straps  of a pale  gingham dress,
        long blonde hair unbound,  garden flower  above left ear - "Thank you for
        taking our daughter." - her father  patted his  back, shook hands nodding
        slowly, kissed his child on  the cheek,  opened the car door, turned away

        strangers in bucket seats, she told jokes, sewed a loose button on his shirt,
        made sandwiches on french bread - tomatoes, roasted peppers, fresh cilantro -
        smiled  whenever he  looked,  laughed  nervously  at the New York  state line

she lies on her side, faces the wall, switches off the lamp
he stares at the ceiling, holds breath, hears the current of her sighs break on white pillowcase

he could brush the hair off her shoulder
       trace the shape of her arm
               stroke the course of her spine
                       to her hip
                               across her thigh
                                       drift along belly - her rounded belly

tomorrow feet in cold stirrups

he sleeps on his back, hands on stomach

in the morning, the motel manager asks "How's your wife?"
snaps a shot of the couple, brunette and blonde in greyscale, next to a highway sign
   "Niagara Falls 18 mi"

Source: The author, 2001
Click here to see a previous version of this poem.

Richard H. Fox’s website

Niagara Falls, 1972 by Richard H. Fox

inside a wicker alligator basket
hides a black and white photo
his children are the age
of the faces looking back
he peers into her eyes
able to hold the gaze

the engine squealed
fan belt slapped
severing all ties
the gas pedal
became a foot rest
in the fading twilight
two pairs of feet
tracked neon winks
thunderclaps
drowned their steps
they sprinted through puddles
giggling and shivering
registered
as man and wife
in the motel shack

the cabin had one twin bed
a dresser left empty
she hung up wet shirt and jeans
“I’ll shower first if that’s ok”
he laid wet clothes next to hers
she emerged wearing a white towel
draped it over the headboard
raised the patchwork quilt
folded back the sheets
arranged the pillows
slipped into bed

he turned into the bathroom
slid off his underpants
let the hot stream
douse his hair
sat in the warmth
patting and drying
then opened the door
flipped the towel
onto the dresser
rolled under covers
she smiled at him
“Are you ok? you look nervous…”

they met at breakfast
sixteen hours ago
her mother sat opposite
pulling on the straps
of her pale gingham dress
long blonde hair unbound
garden flower above left ear
“Thank you for taking our daughter”
her husband patted his back
shook hands nodding slowly
kissed his child on the cheek
opened the car door
turned away

strangers in bucket seats
she told jokes
sewed a loose button on his shirt
brought sandwiches on french bread
vine fresh tomatoes
roasted peppers cilantro
smiled whenever he looked
laughed nervously
at the New York state line

she turned away
lay on her side
switched off the lamp
he stared at the ceiling
listened to her breath
he could touch her back
finger stroke the course of her spine
hand trace the shape of her arm
to her hip across her thigh
palm drift along rounded belly
her belly — tomorrow
feet in cold stirrups —
she may have turned towards him
kissed him full on the mouth
he slept on his back
hands on stomach

in the morning the motel manager
asks “How’s your wife?”
snaps a shot of the couple
brunette and blonde in greyscale
next to a highway sign
“Niagara Falls 18 mi”

© May 6, 2000  Richard H. Fox

Source: The author

Click here to see a revised version of this poem
Richard H. Fox’s website – GreenPoet