Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Childhood Home

I remember the wide steps
And the cold, lead railing
Of an indeterminate gray,
And blue painted walls that never peeled.
Many nights now I climb the stairs,
Alone in the dusk
Of the quiet house.
Walking the stairs
I am neither the child
Nor who I now claim to be.
Suspended always in mid flight,
With the threshold of my bedroom
Just around the corner
It is now time to get up for work.

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