THE STAIRS Jerusalem Stairway of Ahaz 671 B.C. Time reversed, 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.
Amethyst Review 