Staircase Poem by Ruth Lasters

Then do it for me. Suppose a blue plate
on a white table, somewhere in a house

in this town. Assume behind each house front a
well-defined object or furniture. Suspicions are

trial desires. But know precisely where to find a
spiral staircase

so you, when in dismay, can steal a step or
banister from it to

rebuild slowly in your room. Call me when it's finished.
Someone must carry you

up it, sideways.

Translation: Paul Vincent, in collaboration with the author