by Virginia Watts

Poem published by The Write Launch

In life, I bugged my brother relentlessly
about Escher’s impossible staircases,
his floors and doors, his figures with no faces.

It looks like a prison.
It’s not.
Well, there’s a cell door with a little sliding window.
Be quiet, Ginny. I’m reading.

What are they eating at that table outside?
They have plates of food I think.
All I see are two loaves of bread.
Use your imagination.

Mark, there’s a thief.
Where?
The guy with the knapsack. He’s hiding loot.
Or dirty socks. I repeat. I am attempting to read.

You know what I think would have been a good touch?
Does it matter if I don’t care what you think?
The guy with the bottle should be holding a lighted candle instead.
Why?
Some of these worlds should be in the dark.
Okay, good one.

And there’s not enough girls. Only one figure in a skirt.
Well, you are a girl currently wearing pants.
Okay, good one.

Can the two people on the same staircase see each other?
Nope. Parallel universes, remember?
Hey, the guy leaning over the balcony. What’s he looking at?
Oh my GOD. Let me see. Maybe that guy there, coming up the staircase facing him.

In death, I am glad I put that Christmas tree sticker on Mark’s favorite poster.

He is grabbing a balcony rail.

Hoisting himself up and over.

Leaping toward what shimmers

and blinks bright in the distance.

Peacock’s turquoise plume.

Emerald green of cat’s eye.

Flash of blood ruby.

Kiss of gold dust.

Breaking his fall

on the needles and spine

of a Christmas tree

he finds the universe he is searching for.

Copyright © 2021 Virginia Watts. All rights reserved.