The Back Stairs
The steps are worn.
Weathered less by storms than rot and neglect,
pockmarked by two centuries of use.
They are the back steps.
Not for company.
Utilitarian treads with the paint long worn away.
Still, though, They serve their purpose.
A way up from the dank basement
to the light above.
They are for you, your favorite way up.
Out of sight, no pretense in them,
raw and useful. no need for decoration
it what after all is a prosaic task,
leaving the dark,
and claiming the light.
About this poem
Not every step of our journeys needs to be public. At times, the best and most important work is private, raw and more real than we want to admit.
The picture was taken at the Hancock Shaker Villiage.