I decided on that evening
that I was through with sitting still.
I stood up and started moving
with a childlike fascination
for those doors that don’t have locks,
and the stairways that were blocked.
So I dug through the obstruction,
put my fist around the railing,
and each step was far apart,
and far away from the steps before it,
and the air was getting thinner,
until I couldn’t breathe at all.
And if I happened to look behind me,
there were miles and miles of stairs,
enough so I couldn’t see the doorway,
but I knew that it was there.
And on the last step I was dizzy,
‘cause there were stairs in all directions.
But I found another door,
and through the door there was the attic.
Without old clothes,
without a ceiling,
everything had opened wide
into the jaws of something bigger,
and suddenly I saw that I was
Upstairs and outside and freezing on the roof.
Finally, it had found me:
the answer, the feeling, and the truth...
That I’m small,
I’m smaller than the smallest fireball.
