Peter Fruchter, Sun 5, Mar, 1995.

Junk in the attic
and monsters in the basement.
Superego and id,
public viewing and not.

That's how it seems from
the attic window,
from the indifferent light,
from memory
from flights of shadows
from footprints in the dust

Just one step away
and one more down
down the winding stair
is far too far too much.
Unwinding, undoing, unbecoming
and unmaking,
one step down the winding stair
is to fall, to fall forever perhaps
from stolid footprints
from dusty grace.

There are monsters in the basement.
You know.

Peer through your fingers
down the winding stair
and if you hold your fingers just
you'll see yourself peering back through
but from below and unwound, undone, unmade;
from the basement where
as a different light reveals,
the footprints are in blood.

And, if you might
unclench your fingers, fists and eyes -
with luck you'll have
a small caress of wind
upon your winding stair
to help you greet the thing that climbs.

Still, and silent wind aside
you're on your own.

Peter Fruchter, Sun 5, Mar, 1995.

Carolyn's Diary
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