Anything like this ever happen to you?
The Stairs
For D.M
My Nonna’s house is a sanctuary
an extension of the Catholic Church
a rectory a block and a half away
from the gold-gilded arches and the
weary-faced saints statues of St. Angela Merici
Jesus is here
he waits for me on the landing at the top of the carpeted stairs
where the big brown-faced air conditioner
the row of tightly-packed prayer books and Visit Italy travel books
and fray-spined Bibles line like a stiff audience
Sometimes he bops the black plastic nose on the life-size
Papa Smurf stuffy someone won at the carnival
maybe it’s after I’ve gone to the toilet or after I’ve sang my heart
out with Whitney Houston is Zia J’s room or after I’ve sleuthed
in Zia R’s Cosmopolitans for half-naked women and sex words or
maybe I race up to meet him simply because I know what’s coming…
no matter, he waits or he appears (I know he’s busy) – he is here
and I smile, my 6, 7, 8, 9, 10-year-old bones rattling with anticipation
Shall we? he says or Let’s fly! Or Trust me (which is my favourite)
I do, trust him, as I leap and he carries me: an invisible father
a humble spirit, an eager young man who died too young and I
float
I stream
I miracle
over the twelve stairs
arms out like angel wings
my voice twisting a squeal and gently
gently
gently
he places me on the bottom step
steadying my elation with a wink and a nod
for years we share this descending mystery
there are no witnesses but the smurf and my soul
and the proof that lingers in my cell
memories that lift when I recall our secret
With gratitude for Dorothy M. for suggesting I write about this very secret, very special memory which brings me a kind of innocent, joyful spiritual zing…
Hope your week is going well!
VANESSA SHIELDS 