If you ask me a question my answer will be
two words: I’ll conjure it for you.
Maybe you want to throw discus, knock
the heads off statues. I can help with that—
I train heroes. Short on my goat legs
so I can climb the limits of rationality.
It’s true, fauns do have more fun
and we play an excellent set of pipes.
Now foolish, now sly, now desperate
for the mortals to have an epiphany.
I’m prepared for terrible news
as long as it’s something I’ve rehearsed
because the world might be ending
or continuing to suffer any minute.
We can’t all be Hercules or Megara
disputing love and strength with the muses
some of us are here to carry the bags
into the garden and plant laurels.
Few of us become statues. Few of the statues
remain unbroken just like few students
remember the sweat of their teachers
beyond a crisp bite of apple. Stick with me,
develop a few callouses, strengthen your
ankles. I want you to be remembered by the stars.
–
Allison Burris grew up in the Pacific Northwest and currently lives in Oakland, California. Her poems embrace the whimsical and cozy, explore human connection, and affirm the power of stories. She received her MLIS from San Jose State University and her poetry appears or is forthcoming in various journals, including Muleskinner, After Happy Hour Review, Passionfruit, The Marbled Sigh, and Avalon Literary Review. Connect with her via https://linktr.ee/allisonburris.
© 2024, Allison Burris
Halfway Down the Stairs 