508 West 6th Street

These stairs are far too steep.

I look at them, and remember the first time my mother took me driving in the country.

She stopped at the bottom of a hill

That seemed to reach into the sky

And told me to drive.

As I pressed the accelerator,

I was afraid that some force on the hilltop would reject my efforts

And send me plummeting, helpless, backwards.

I think of the time my cousin jumped down from her bunk bed ladder

And motioned for me to follow her,

But the ground suddenly seemed to be miles away.

I only jumped to it once no one was watching.

I think of the dreams I've had of leaping down staircases,

Of jumping, letting go of the railing, and learning to fly.

Then I think of waking up,

Learning how to carry myself in gravity again,

Taking my steps carefully,

Afraid to fall,

To tumble down this steep flight of stairs

And land in the basement,

No longer a child.