"Stone-Old" - Katy R.

That day she found stairs
That were stone-old.

She could tell because they were folded
Into the hillside, and the wild grass
Stretched through the cracks
With surprising familiarity,
The way a daughter slips
Through the crevice
Of her father’s bent arm.

There was nothing left to do
But climb. As she rose
She counted each step.

On number twenty-two
She imagined that at the top
Lived an elderly couple
So in love they
Hadn’t come down in years.

On step eighty-nine
She knew at the peak
She would find a monastery,
Aged and forgotten, beautiful
Like the tip of a sea shell barely exposed.

The steps climbed higher, reaching straight into the sun.
It felt like climbing into a dream, really.

Standing there,
It was if she could see for the first time,
And everything was so orange—
Like the Popsicle that nobody wants,
Unwrapped and melting away in space.