The Back Stairwell

At the top of the stairs
is a door with cracks of light
around its frame.

At the bottom
there's no way out,
only darkness, dust,
and the possibility of rats.

All alone, thirty seven and a virgin,
in this wreck of stones
where the walls have caved,

she twirls in front of a mirror
on the landing; stardust falling
all around her like a ballerina trail
across a stage. Like a key
under stones.