Newel Post
. . . a fancy, a chimera in my brain,
troubles me in my prayer . . .
— John Donne
—
Standing
at the top of the stairs,
a shimmering—
an image so light
and ethereal
that she does not descend
but alights
upon each carpeted tread,
and each gives an ‘umble thank you
to be of this small service.
She stops,
hand on the newel post
shaped by the lathe
to a state of curved and graceful perfection.
Then, sitting on the last tread,
she straightens her halo,
draws tight the laces of her trainers—
and is off.
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