Poem by Tiana Hennings & Artwork by Svea Elisha
Mammoths to Hotel Room
Only imperfect up close,
you’re my best friend for the night.
You stepped with shining toes through history –
your sensors have seen dawns in
war trenches, processed pictures
of housewife wonders in 1953.
You’ve stored information about the queen’s
wrinkles on her hands when you kissed them,
your silver dressed in Victorian garments.
You observed the fall of a dynasty as the emperor
was ruptured by the enemy-
you, the loyal one, hid your rusted
hands during surrender.
Mammoths trampled your chest; a Picasso
painting of wires spread over ice caps.
Time traveler cyborg, they made you to
put historians out of business with stored data.
But not even seeing the Messiah up close
taught you to wake up from the dead and
demand a life reaching toward salvation.
You’ll stay with me tonight.
and I’ll show you what it’s like to be saved.
In this spot on the timeline,
I’ll make you almost human.
2.6 million years was worth the wait.
You’re immune to aging, but you could
die smiling if they dismantled you after this.
Oil dripping on us from broken bolts,
you’ll be bursting into gasps of code
for heaven to bestow a mandate
upon us to be queen and king of
this hotel room, this ripping carpet.
Beeping through your glass eyes is an overheat
warning we’ll both ignore. You’ll feel
your encasement dented and you’ll propel us into
windows. They programmed you without taste buds,
but you’ll learn culinary sweat is something
people shouldn’t forget. And my hands
move harder than yours – yes, even the ones
that moved life through the vortexes.
Because I hold what feels like the
power to create a civilization of
pleasure and glory in my palms.
This night, in these sheets, will be stored
forever on your hard drive.
Although you’ve seen it all,
the treacherous timeline created
by men and your mechanical ancestors,
they will ask you what historic event you
saw is best to record for the Cloud.
You’ll tell them you saw your metal
melt in perfect tragedy, a revolution
in your soul when it was
considered impossible
for your iron to hold one.
You will tell them
you crossed paths with me.
Only imperfect up close,
you’re my best friend for the night.
You stepped with shining toes through history –
your sensors have seen dawns in
war trenches, processed pictures
of housewife wonders in 1953.
You’ve stored information about the queen’s
wrinkles on her hands when you kissed them,
your silver dressed in Victorian garments.
You observed the fall of a dynasty as the emperor
was ruptured by the enemy-
you, the loyal one, hid your rusted
hands during surrender.
Mammoths trampled your chest; a Picasso
painting of wires spread over ice caps.
Time traveler cyborg, they made you to
put historians out of business with stored data.
But not even seeing the Messiah up close
taught you to wake up from the dead and
demand a life reaching toward salvation.
You’ll stay with me tonight.
and I’ll show you what it’s like to be saved.
In this spot on the timeline,
I’ll make you almost human.
2.6 million years was worth the wait.
You’re immune to aging, but you could
die smiling if they dismantled you after this.
Oil dripping on us from broken bolts,
you’ll be bursting into gasps of code
for heaven to bestow a mandate
upon us to be queen and king of
this hotel room, this ripping carpet.
Beeping through your glass eyes is an overheat
warning we’ll both ignore. You’ll feel
your encasement dented and you’ll propel us into
windows. They programmed you without taste buds,
but you’ll learn culinary sweat is something
people shouldn’t forget. And my hands
move harder than yours – yes, even the ones
that moved life through the vortexes.
Because I hold what feels like the
power to create a civilization of
pleasure and glory in my palms.
This night, in these sheets, will be stored
forever on your hard drive.
Although you’ve seen it all,
the treacherous timeline created
by men and your mechanical ancestors,
they will ask you what historic event you
saw is best to record for the Cloud.
You’ll tell them you saw your metal
melt in perfect tragedy, a revolution
in your soul when it was
considered impossible
for your iron to hold one.
You will tell them
you crossed paths with me.
Tiana Hennings is a local slam poet, student affairs professional, and podcaster residing in Spokane, WA, US. She has represented Spokane at the Bigfoot Regional Poetry Slam and is currently working on a chapbook. You can find her on Twitter @drivinintoday.
Svea Elisha is an artist who works within the photographic medium. Recently receiving her BFA in Fine Art Photography from Rochester Institute of Technology. “The Fit” came from a place of pure curiosity and is meant as an exploration into the body and the mind. She seeks to confront expectations, structures, and space created by both outside forces and my inner self. The process began and ended with questions.