Lindsay Stewart

Blueprint from below

My sister and I asked for a room
of our own for years   and when
we finally each received one
I returned to hers    this went on
for some time

In this room, there is no door
only one window in this room
there are two chairs  it does not
matter what they are made of
only that one is empty
and in the other   sits my mother

In this room, there is a podium
my father and I walk around
and around it   in this room
there are vaulted ceilings so
it’s bigger than all the other
rooms but    when we’re in it
we don’t really notice   the air
feels more like water than air
in here   but my father is a surfer
so he   simply holds his breath
I take different measures  I
sink to the bottom  and stay there

In this room there is a mirror on
one wall and each time she passes
my sister turns her head sharply
eyes downcast    as if someone
is standing in the mirror
someone is standing in the mirror
holding their pulsing heart   not
like a shock but like some
   bright question

In this room   there is a candle  lit
and I didn’t know about it
then    after some time        I do

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Lindsay Stewart is from Glen Ellen, California. Her second home is San Diego. Her work has been featured in The Los Angeles Review, What Rough Beast, Hunger Mountain, Tar River Poetry, The I-70 Review and one of her poems was recently featured on the Poetry Foundation’s VS podcast. She has work forthcoming in Spillway.