Photo by Omar Willey. Licensed CC-BY.
Photo by Omar Willey. Licensed CC-BY.

Branches overhang
stairs which lead

to a grassy place,
a stump washed in sun.

Seen from afar the flight
became a woman draped

in black and larger
than the maples. She guarded

them like a ghost
a treasure buried and dangerous.

We walked the long way around in terror.
Years later we forget why we avoid those stairs.

Categories Poetry

Pamela Hobart Carter loves Seattle as much for its water and mountains as for its bustle and creativity. She explores the Emerald City daily while walking her dog. Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side.

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