For an hour today, she practices escaping
from the stairs. There is no jail here,
only our pretense of bars. She,
the bank robber. I the police.
I lock her up again with my invisible
jail cell key. Then I swallow the key,
I throw it away, but she always produces another,
an invisible skeleton key she’s been hiding
somewhere around her and she lets
herself out again, then hovers nearby
to be caught. I feign dismay. She’s
escaped, again! And search for her,
looking right through her. Until,
aha! I say, and grab her. She never
struggles much, almost hurls her body
at me to be caught. So similar to
how I want to be held, forever,
I say, and then the next moment
I long for escape. Oh sweet
imagination, how real it all can seem,
like this girl slipping away from the stairs,
saying for the fourteenth time, catch me again.