A Fiction

There lies a book
At the bottom of the stairs
I see it while I sit
Tangible and still
Aware
I half expect it will open
On its own and bend
Itself backward over its spine
A literary Slinky in rewind
Up the stairs crawling
Cover over cover
End over pages end
Against all laws
Of nature nurture nothing
Until it nestles itself
In my lap
I cannot tell
If it is yet begun
But the ending bell
It has not rung
So
I
Will
Not
Look
Only feel its body
Heavy against my thighs
Horror moving up my spine
What does it want
From me a story
A reader a writer a recycler
A soul to fill itself full
To tip me towards its starting place
Original
To become ours
A partner for the falling
Limbs and contents mingling
In a blur of page and person
Until we hit the bottom
Ending both with crooked spines
A heap of unknown bent
Paper cut and crumpled
All undone but finally
Resting
As it was
First begun

— A.R.

ghost on the stairs marianna armata
i_sat_at_the_top_of_the_stairs_julia_kay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Sat at the Top of the Stairs by Julia Kay

~ by April on January 6, 2014.

3 Responses to “A Fiction”

  1. I found this surprisingly erotic. I know … it is just me.
    Excellent anyway.

    • Ha! Yes it is only about an experience during meditation, as well as a bit about the fear/motivation/compulsion to write. But glad you found it to be excellent. Thank you.

    • Now that I read it again, I see what you mean…totally not my intention today. But I guess reading and writing can be a passionate act so, I’ll take it.

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