If you look through the keyhole, you will see a skinny man wearing red and white striped pants, riding a unicycle across a cloud. You will see a twisting staircase with a thousand steps, carved out of the body of a yellow pear. A schizophrenic whale with a propeller in its water spout, swimming through the sky, convinced he is a helicopter. A beautiful July day, sexy in a slinky red dress and matching lipstick, beckoning you with a breathy voice and curves to stop the world.
You will see a handsome painter named Basquiat, hanging from stars, climbing to Mars. An upright piano, dressed in a button-down shirt and maroon tie, a blindfold wrapped around its head as it waits solemnly on a subway platform. The states of Washington and New Mexico, clutching roses between their teeth as they tango swirls of cosmic color around the wallflower of Montana. A newborn revolution, soft and pink, howling for its mother's milk. A red-haired girl with X's for eyes and a valentine tattooed across her chest, skipping along the edge of a daydream.
You will see these and a hundred other things, including your own iris gazing back at you and the oddities of your world, if you look through the keyhole.
Gina Ranalli has contributed fiction, poetry and essays to numerous anthologies, journals and zines. Her books include: CHEMICAL GARDENS, SUICIDE GIRLS IN THE AFTERLIFE, and 13 THORNS (with Gus Fink.) She lives in Seattle.
editor's note: if gina tells you she'll call you, don't worry, she'll call