portion of the artwork for Gail Peterson's poetry

Get Out the Ladder
Gail Peterson

On a bad day,
scramble up to a cloud
and look down.

Water, still wet,
seeps into pools,
fire still crackles in the leaves.

Rung by rung, climb
till you bang your head
on God.

Crying will pitch you headfirst
back into your nettle soup.

means leaning back on nothing—
arms out, as your nose grows
clown round and circus red.

And so does your hair—
which will catch the eye of a star.
Calling you pointedly,

it will suggest
you try its night course
in twinkling.

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 34 | Fall 2011