Elevator Music
May 8 2008


Elevators make me nervous
— the windowless cell,
strangers close enough to smell,
the man who was trapped on a long summer weekend
by himself.

There is no sensation of motion at constant speed;
so when a door closes, then opens
I feel a moment of disbelief,
as if a band of stagehands had frantically re-arranged everything,
while we stood, waiting
politely inside.
Or as close as I’ll ever get
to teleportation,
this snug steel box
around which the world rotates.

There is an etiquette to vertical transportation
— the acceptable conversation,
the averted gaze,
the unconscious separation of human bodies
that precisely maximizes space,
as if we were all mathematical prodigies
figuring it out in our heads.

I imagine this is the shortest trip we take,
far more civilized than strap-hangers
crowded-on to subway trains.
To be whisked-up on a thousand feet of steel cable,
or plummet down a dark narrow shaft
— praying
the brakes will catch,
the counter-weight won’t snap.

I stare intently at blinking numbers counting-off,
then feel that roller-coaster flutter
double-up in my stomach
when it stops.
I step out
into bright sunlight and air,
my heart beating fiercely
my body tense.
Next time
I vow I’ll take the stairs.