At DVerse, the prompt today is to write a Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title, that includes today’s prompt word, “wound” in the body of the poem. We can use the word “wound” or a form of the word – not a synonym for the word.
a passing through point on the road to somewhere else
or else a place to drop off bags and lighten the load for a short time during one night stays and brief layovers.
The only signs there was every anything there at all are ruffled sheets, indented pillows, the odd forgotten sock or sweater, a short letter, scrawled on hotel stationary, hidden in the drawer of my mind.
My arteries are clogged with the mass of small trinkets and memories left behind by people who have long-since forgotten staying the weekend within my walls.
When I met you, my hotel heart did not know what it felt like to feel like home, which may be why we began in stops and starts, departures and returns, each return uncertain.
When we would fall into a comfortable silence, each on our own phones, in our own worlds, connected by nothing but your head on my shoulder, I would fear we were falling apart and wait for the comfortable feeling to leave,
but it never did.
In those silences, we no longer felt the distance of being two people, no longer needed words to convey our thoughts –
just being together was enough.
In those silences that we shared my hotel heart began to feel more like a home.
Seamus O'Shaughnessy, Jr. 