Poetry

Staircases, Part 2

Each turn was a mystery
Hoping for a surprise at the end
A present
A guest at the door
A parent to catch me
As I end my run down
In a leap of faith
Knowing there are arms to catch me
There are memories worn into the steps
In the dust of the banister
Curious babies
Moody teenagers
Running late and running down
Slips and trips
Tutus and wedding dresses and funeral veils
At the sight of these stairs
My old bones protest profusely
But as I walk the winding memory lane
The dust lifts and dances in the window light
The years fall away
I’m looking around the bend
With a child’s whimsical imagination
Anticipating the surprise at the end

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