The Stairs – a poem by Ann Power

Stairway of Ahaz
671 B.C.
and down the stairs
the sun that travelled up
begins descent.
The same hour comes again,
yet the shadows record no history.
And I, Hezekiah, have been given
a willing sign of promised life, am
spared my demise by a poultice of figs.
The steaming cauldron of fever,
the grim phantoms parading before me,
the grey-green specter of death, gone. 
And what is it that I must learn?
Perhaps in repetition to focus
on the presence of God in every second.
Time has been deemed as straight, measured.
Perhaps not.  Is it a bubble then in eternity
whose contents can be replayed indefinitely
in the infinite?
Abrasion of light;
Abeyance of what was mine or might be mine.
I am without and within.
And I am ascended…caught other worldly,
in dark diamond blue.
I know the number of my years.
Paused, I sense my anguished failings, and know
the limitless in praise and adoration.
In sickle-light, sun moving between obstacles,
I am summoned into the sublime.
My libation is poured out
and renewed, poured again.

Ann Power is a retired faculty member from The University of Alabama.  She enjoys writing historical sketches as well as poems based in the kingdoms of magical realism. Her work has appeared in: Spillway, Gargoyle, The Birmingham Poetry Review, The American Poetry Journal, Dappled Things, Caveat Lector, The Copperfield Review, and other journals.

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