Monday, May 5, 2014

I Met Someone New

What a weekend!
My mind's still reeling.
I can't shake this feeling.

I'm enamored.

I met someone new,
and everything seems so tiny with my head floating high in the clouds.
This haze is a welcome relief from my hectic workweek.
And the maze of roads below encourage me to settle in
with the warm mist of these cumulus nimbi passing over my cheek
- I'm reminded of her.

On the drive in
I gently touched the soft leather of my steering wheel
like I do everyday.
But with the tires of my car 8 miles in the sky
I needn't worry about any sort of accident or DUI,
so I can focus a little deeper,
lean into the leather
and really,
truly feel.

I beckon her presence from above the weather,
and rest my cheek
where the warmth from my hands radiate
and it reminded me of the first time I ever pulled her near.
When my lips touched her velvet skin,
and with a quiet sigh, we hesitate.

It was her cheek.
I'll never forget it
- so soft,
inconceivably soft.

And the usual odors of the shop;
fresh cut metal stings the nose like a steel burr.
Burnt acrylic fresh off the table saw,
the lubricant from the nail gun,
the wood chips of balsam and fir.
- all mysteriously transform before reaching my nose
into that beautiful aroma I associate with her.
My olfactory sense was held in immediate suspense
and I realized what a blessing it is
to smell this so often.

Even the sharp edges of the raw materials softened.
Tools meant to scrape and scour were left ineffective,
and the usually tensile metals began to softly bend.

All weekend I was transfixed.
And yet I haven't been caught with a single thought
of times when I was in her company.
Rather I've brought her along
as though the blankie of her being constantly swaddles me
- saturated like a room with the most perfect weather.
infatuated like the room where I first met her.

I pull the trash,
and realize how gently I embrace its heft
holding it from underneath,
I pause and discard what's left.
It must have been a spectacle when
my lips purse, eyes clench
just like hers,
as the echoes of metal and wood reverberate
within that steel receptacle.

And when I connect the air hose to the compressor
to blow away the dust from the work bench,
I stand awe struck
and remember when I first impressed her.
As the nozzle and it's grip fit perfect
'round my fingertip
just like her tiny hand.

I hit the lights and call it a day.
Windows down,
I'm always too far away.
So I hitch a ride,
floating 8 miles high,
blowing through warm misted clouds.
Watching them in my rear view mirror
as they collect and unfurl.
Now with my thinking more clear,
anxiously I grab the wheel and steer my self home
to my baby girl.



Jordan R Shaver 5/5/2014