one,
two,
three.
the dust churns, the darkness swirls and you hear an insistant tapping.
the wood creaks, but you take another step anyway.
down, down, down, down, stop.
rusted metal, splintered wood: a door.
open it open it
creaking, scraping, groaning, screeching.
one,
two,
three.
silence.
but wait.
a plastic switch and sudden light.
a rocking chair; a broken bike.
you've stepped into a forgotten lair
of ancient things and musty air.
a book with pictures; a fragmented clock.
a box of memories - time that stops.
you've never seen that face before.
why is there a second door?
cold metal, warm hands.
curious eyes, adventurous plans
a door that swings
open with ease;
blurry light
and a cool breeze.
in, in,
one step, two.
a dangling cord;
a lighted room.
you never meant to come this far,
but look around, here you are.
the floor is dusty, the paint is flaking
a window in the wall is breaking.
no one has been in here for years;
no one has wanted to face their fears
of darkness and creaking, of tapping and screeching;
the staircase,
the basement,
the memories,
and the doll in the corner with the staring eyes.
that scared you to death when you were a child.
one,
two,
three,
and go.
you've seen enough
of this place below.
to be honest, you're still scared
of the doll in the corner,
the memories, the stairs.
up, up, up,
two steps at a time.
hello familiar,
hello mine.
the shining floorboards, the light from the sun,
the food in the kitchen, your dad, your mum.
there's your cat, covered in gold.
there's your brother, glitter in his hold.
maybe someday you'll head on back down
the stairs to the basement;
the doll, the clown.
but for now you'd rather climb the stairs
that lead to your bedroom
and watch the sky out your window:
wide, bright,
blue and light.
nothing like
the broken bike
and the memories you've been running from
all your life.