The Back Stairs

In the afternoon When no one is in the house, I suddenly hear dull dragging feet Go fumbling down those dark back stairs, That climb up twisting, As if they wanted no one to see them. Beating a dirge upon the bare planks I hear those feet and the creak of a long-locked door.

My mother often went Up and down those selfsame stairs, From the room where by the window She would sit all day and listlessly Look on the world that had destroyed her, She would go down in the evening To the room where she would sleep, Or rather, not sleep, but all night Lie staring fiercely at the ceiling.

In the afternoon When no one is in the house: I suddenly hear dull dragging feet Beating out their futile tune, Up and down those dark back stairs, But there is no one in the shadows.