BY JAN HAAG
CROSSING THE METRO DIVIDE
4-26-00
Vaulting an acre high.
pristine white and green and cream,
little
brown spider chairs,
three each around each spindly table...
One
thin row of tables and chairs
on each side of the immense hall
laid
still with the original, small,
octagonal tiles, and a linear
pattern
here or there...
I sat alone with the silent, highly polished,
wooden doors lining each
side above the slightly
greener than celadon, square tiles
and ate
my unheated Phad Thai
from a plastic carton, with the
give-away
chopsticks.
I had no experience whatsoever, no emotion,
no thought. It was like
standing before the guru
many years ago. I could never remember a
single
thing to ask him or tell him.
Struck dumb, I could only
bow
and step aside. Here in
the vasty hall of the old King Street
Station
where Metro had moved in, but kept
this great room so plain,
so clean,
that even I had to ask if I might cross it
to get a bus
schedule from the room indicated.
"Across there you mean?"
And when I stepped in, the silence, the cool
breeze from vastly distant overhead ducts,
the twinkling lights
that graced the vaults great ribs,
the new swept floor, the emptiness
of this public room,
-- not even one plant --
and I thought:
But there are tables here, I have my takeout with me.
I could sit
here. And I did
Copyright © 2000 Jan Haag
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Jan Haag may be reached via e-mail: jhaag@u.washington.edu
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