Wednesday, 28 August 2013

The Key

In time I turned the key formed/forged from frozen wine to unlock a chest filled with Christmas gathering snow and annuals. Pears Encyclopedia was one combining its weight with The Guinness Book of Records. Quiz books that asked questions, story collections that gave, if you worked for them, answers. Through the pages of one of these books I learned the word 'davenport'. Mahogany wainscoting lined the walls and a ruby wine shone inside crystals of cut-glass limned with gold from a blazing log fire. There was text writing itself in black print from one side of the room to the other and back again, over the brass studs that pinched the leather of an armchair into place and the grey-lead lattice that ran itself in Xs across the windows. The only chaise-longue that I have ever seen in real imagined life composed of 3D objects rather than print and paper belonged to Rodney who made his world from from print and paper. He kept it in an office where, sometimes, he'd lounge like an emperor and drink red wine among stacks of magazines and books – the only place where I can go to visit him now as a lamp hangs from a bough and the key begins to melt.

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