elevator 

i know where
to move to-- it's not
so much a choice as it is
a calling--
i piled all my belongings
on the curb next to the old
stone-eyed televisions &
sunken cheeked couches--
drowsy from rain & sun--
you asked me how we can take
so long to own so many things--

i'm going to take a bus
to the city & find the biggest
building-- 
i'll put on a suite
& a fedora with a red feather
or maybe a tight polka dot
dress & glasses on the tip
of my nose-- i could become
anyone there & live where 
everyone is going
& no one is stopping-- even me--
i'm getting taller & taller 
& challenging the sky scraper
next to me to stretch herself
until her head hits the moon--

i'm the witnesses to the
people who enter 
the elevator-- morning 
chews metal doors--
we blink like an amphibian--
they look down at 
their shoes to check
if they're still touching
ground-- we fly--

a man with a jack russel
terrier eats a fist
of lays potato chips 
& a woman with a bunch
of light bulbs piled high  
in a card board box checks
her watch-- we go
up-- we go up 

     we  go  up

we  go  up

i tell them farewell
on their floors & they wonder
where i'm getting off
& i grin to myself
because what they don't know 
is that i live here now
in the corner of the elevator
in suspension of time
in the teeth of the machine

the sensation of falling 
is hard to recreate

we  go  down

       we  fall

we  go deeper

we fall farther
than the elevator intended--
i came her to extend
our pathway--
when no one is looking 
i add buttons for floors--
-1, -2, -3
go deeper with me i'm taking
you with me--
you could move to the
elevator too-- we'll
make a city on the curb
where our lives used to be 

we go higher

   we  go  high

open up in a tangle-hair 
sky-- this is above the
sky's mouth-- this is where we
stop moving--
this is the floor where only
i got off--
everyone else had a place to take
their umbrellas
& the woman with the box full
of light bulbs has a lamp
to come home to
& the man with the jack russel 
has a chair to catch him--

when  i  open the doors

   there is   only  sky

you  warned  me

  not  to  live like
        this

instead i get off on
only the second
floor with a red-haired lady 
clutching
a stack of magazines to her chest--
i want to ask her if she'll read them--

i go into an empty cubicle 
that isn't my own & look out the
window & think how
much taller i have been
& i regret only momentarily 
the passing of the cities i
have owned-- scooped off
a curb

we can disappear so so
quietly-- like the
door of the elevator
gliding shut

this is where i get off--