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.