By Lora Keller

I am lost in his tinseled labyrinth,
in a forest of silver studs. I follow
what he abandons. Screws. Dust.
A Carhartt glove. He climbs a ladder
to the second story through a rectangle
cut in the ceiling and reaches his palm
to me, creased and cupped like a worn
baseball mitt. We sit at the hole’s edge.
Our legs dangle, a shoe chandelier.
Hard hats below bump and glide.
In this liminal place I want him, I
don’t want him, to build
a staircase here.

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Lora Keller has been a scriptwriter, public relations executive, educator, and small business owner and now writes full-time. Her poems are published widely and have earned numerous awards. Is it a pink tulle or zebra satin day? That’s what drives Keller’s decisions on what to wear and drives her in-progress collection, What I Wore to the Mental Hospital. Lakeller.com.