ManicWorld Magazine

the object
on the stairs
had been there forever
no one moved it
it had become
part of the
furniture
part of the stairs

i picked it up
a dust ring
had gathered around
where it sat
and the carpeted stairs
looked lighter
where the object
had been

it was warm
from sunlight
holding onto heat
like old things do
silent and steady
as we walked by

we never spoke of it
this object
though we stepped past it
daily
it had presence
an invisible presence
midway on the stairs

i turned it
in my hand
something once useful
now orphaned
by context
and yet still
claiming space

it smelled faintly
of time
and old conversations

i didn’t know
what to do
now that it was gone
from its spot
i held its weight

and for a moment
the stairs felt
too open
too empty
too bare

i placed it back
exactly
where it had been
let the dust ring
resume
like nothing had changed