Stairs at Weymouth
In that haunted writer’s retreat
in Southern Pines
a spiral staircase descended
from the ceiling.
No, it wasn’t a dream.
I opened my eyes
and the corded spiral
appeared. I waited
for a ghost to show,
or a voice to whisper.
Dark hours I stared,
until early light spilled
into the room, erased
the vision.
Today I wonder
if I had it all wrong;
maybe those stairs
were waiting for me
to climb up.
— Maureen Sherbondy
(From Eulogy for an Imperfect Man)
