Narrow

Stone staircase up a steep hill slopethat’s wedged between two leaning towers.Within its shadow, my feet gropeto find each step: I reach — I cower. The steps are slick with half-frost rainthat paints each riser black, a sheen,curved mirrors’ gleam. One slip, sharp painreminds me where I’ve always been — upon these stairs that stare at mefrom birth to end, walls blinkeringmy sight. At staircase head, I seeyet further steps still lingering. Ahead, just steps. Behind, yet more.Each one a trap, a place to fall.But then I turn around — am borneby sight of skies past these high walls.