birth of insomnia
when I'm in darkness
except for the rectangle of light from an outer room leaking in the doorway,
I remember a child that was put to bed
when things were still going on upstairs.
sliver of light transports me back to where I began -
the only one in a basement,
imprisoned and nonessential.
I belly-crawled across the concrete floor
to the bottom of the stairs like a soldier.
but then it got tricky.
testing my balance against warped boards, I eased
into just the right spot
so those old farmhouse planks didn't rat me out.
I investigated where the wood was sensitive, and discovered the still-sturdy sides.
mental notes of distances and spaces and ways of building stairs were considered, and I rebuilt them in my head as a map of just where my feet belonged.
the night I got up to the top of the stairs, without the tiniest creak, I stood up on my knees on the landing
to see what I had earned.
I learned that
nobody was even listening.