It was magic how they grew
from nothing—
rocks water light
through time warped windows.
Pale roots spindly
petals pearly lace.
I bent my face
towards beauty’s awful logic.
The closet under the stairs
held treasure—
a top hat, a captain’s cloak,
MahJong’s elephant bone.
Magic how the stereoscope made
their double image mine—
a white horse, a bride,
a small girl picking cotton.
I looked and I looked
and then I looked away.
–
Annie Cook received a Ph.D. in English Literature from the University of Wisconsin – Madison, where she also studied Creative Writing at the graduate level. Her poetry and essays appear most recently in Mantis, The Dillydoun Review and The Elevation Review. She lives in Providence, Rhode Island with her family.
© 2024, Annie Cook
Halfway Down the Stairs 