Elevators: A Pantoum(ish)

by C. S. E. Cooney

in my dreams, the elevators have no doors
they're merry-go-rounds, roller coasters
too many buttons, none of them work
they move like trains through cities we're roller coasters, merry-go-roundswe cross the street when we see each otherhalf-empty trains moving through cities it's no longer polite to hold the elevator doorwe cross the street when we see each other
like in dreams, our pacing's off
touch nothing, rush to close the elevator door
cover your masked mouth to coughour pacing's off, like in dreams
time feels like flying, or quicksand, or static
cover your masked mouth to cough
murmuring not "Excuse me," but "Not Covid!"time feels static, or like quicksand, or fallingboundary-less, kaleidoscopic free-rangeno excuses--but the ubiquitous corvid perched on my fire escape, inked like a headline"boundary-less, kaleidoscopic free-range"
is how I dress these days, pajamas and ball gowns
nail polish chipped like my fire escape, ink for eyeliner
a door closes between me and the household voices "I love your ball gown!" shouts the stranger in pajamaswe wait for the elevator, she with laundry, me with groceriesone goes first, one waits; a door closes between usin my dreams, the elevators have no doors