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)

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