my ladder shoots up from under the violets
and climbs to meet the top of a yellow playground slide
my hair is braided into the sky as i stand tall on he loves me, he loves me not
and rungs built of
a scarlet coat with shining black
buttons marching in two single-file lines down the front—
a grizzled man with a face salted and peppered,
bristles crooning about bluebirds and rainbows in the subway—
bright white clouds pretending to be dragons with twisting, ridged, raging
backs or gardens of blooming skyscrapers—
i climb high on mountains of clinking trinkets
and teetering stacks of round clouds
the man who buried you in the ground forgot to light
the exit sign
and the iron ladder you sent for is out of stock—
you are atlas and i am trying to balance a green marble on my nose.
