I love the interesting shapes created with spiral staircases especially if contrasted with a sleek winding slide, sort of a strange take from the child's board game called "Chutes and Ladders." The poem twisted through the image tells a deeper tale of trust and love, and the becoming of oneself. The poem reads as follows: I have been like a plain brown paper box, standard size and shape with large red letters to spell the word "fragile" and "this side up" written across it. They put me there and I allowed it. I thought but kept quiet, content in my halted breath. A still life, I just was. Then, without knowing, shaking, or upsetting, she rolled me over, paid no attention to the lettering or the absence of light and color. She reached inside where I struggled to breathe. She trusted and handed me the knife so I could cut myself out.