I loved taking the escalator in 
Kaufmann’s Department store.
Wide gaps in grooved metal steps,
meant mom always called out 
warnings to hold on and not
let anything on my person
shoelaces, long dress hems, 
dangle where those moving  steps
fold into one another, lest I
be drawn in and 
Die A Horrible Death.
Escalators were just one risky
part of an entire world was that
waiting to swallow me up
at the smallest misstep.
 
At age twelve I was allowed to
go downtown alone to shop
I loved to take the escalator
to watch the merchandise counters 
disappear from that odd 
triangular perspective
as I held tightly to the handrail,
exalting in the frisson of fear 
present in all risky undertakings.
Once, just for fun,
I rode up all thirteen floors
from first floor perfumes 
to last floor furniture, 
gawking at ladies and men’s 
apparel, toys, books, housewares,
and more in between.
However, whenever I felt tired, 
or unsure of my shoelaces,
or my hands were full of packages,
and I could not grab the rail,
I took the elevator.
Even now I try living 
that same balance for what
worth is daily life without some risk?