Stairs
Lie on the floor, we pluck words and hooks,
From favourite songs and picture books,
Greedily captured, fingerprint smudged,
These look like the people that we’d like to be.
Driving home and the windows slide down,
We play our songs for the whole damn town,
Throw in our voices to words we don’t own,
An echo of things that we’d like to be.
We take the stairs, going two at a time,
Abandon the earth as we clamber and climb,
Follow the lure of impossible skies,
Scaling the summit of what we could be.
A camera flash to crown our ascent,
Sealing a scene of reckless intent,
A portrait in white, hung heavy and bent,
I think this is how we’d like to be.
A mechanical motion, we wave from windows,
For family and friends in the streets below,
A smile in tandem, stretched tight for show,
A shining parade for the people outside.
A silence the scale of Manhattan’s skyline,
Throws into focus a beat out of time,
Grinding against our best borrowed lines,
A dissonant whisper to the people outside.
Sheltered inside from the glow of the night,
Breathe on the glass, trace a line in the white,
Knot the loop, seal a heart in outline,
A fairy tale frame for the crowd outside.
Knees to the floor, we pick shards and affairs,
From limping songs and selfish prayers,
Hands to the sky, we submit to the stairs,
And make our way down to the world outside.
