There’s a girl under the floor and she got
inside my head. The rain here sings its songs
all night long. The fireworks will go out
over the water and not come back. It’s like that
guy on the radio yelling Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it!
right before Mount St. Helens ate him. There’s a
girl under the floor and her heart is full of razors and
little red stars. She pulls dreams out of my
head like streamers. The ride back on the
ferryboat: the Pacific Northwest’s tears turn the
windows to ice and mist. I don’t think I could see
more clearly if I tried. There’s a girl under the
floor, east of the coffee stain, west of
the mildew. Watch out, that black mold can
mess with you. This is the piñata right before
it’s smashed. Take the benedictions of the
ferns in the damp green, let the moss grow up your limbs.
That kaleidoscope valerian sleep. A little effort and I could
walk out of this Minotaur’s maze, all the way to the tip
of Stanley Park and the edge of the world. There’s only one factor:
There’s a girl under the floor and she just finished the
last bite of my heart.
Click here to read J.B. Williams on the origin of the poem.
Image: Rainy Afternoon Reflection, by Edna Winti, licensed under CC 2.0.
- I’ve Got a Lot on the Cascadia Plate - November 28, 2025