Cellar

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Cellar

A spiral staircase.
The door opened.
It creaked, a little.
A streak of sunlight, dustmotes
In the dank air.
We stepped onto the landing.
Old marble, some sort of pattern, half-seen.
Grit under our shoes. I could hear it grinding,
Almost feel it under my sole,
Rolling.
A spiral staircase, winding down.
She went first,
Tapping her way on high heels,
Sticking to the wide wedge of the stairs.
I followed, flatfooted,
Wondering.
At the bottom, startling:
A dirt floor. Unexpected
After the marble.
She turned, also unexpected.
Stray sunbeam from above
Caught red hair. Sharp alien light on
One mischievous green eye,
Winking.
The floor was harder than I'd thought it would be,
Not muddy. Dry beneath us.
We stirred up a lot of dust.
I didn't mind the smell. What
We were doing wiped out grave thoughts.
More like archaeology.
Digging up past surprises. Finding
Something that seemed
To have remembered itself.
Found joy
In the cellar.
Laughing.

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Infinite Improbability Drive

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