Mint Theater Poem by Morgan Michaels

So many feet shuttling up and down
have shuffled them smooth
each pale step, scooped in the middle
and worn to a gleaming spoon
so deep, it could puddle water.

Each stair worn and buffed at center
by the lapping of many feet
for so many decades
you can almost hear the hiss of silk trains
lifted step over step.

You can almost hear the sound-
the shuffle-chuck of leather on stone,
on nearly-immortal marble
its tumultuous birth eons past
its adamancy clear.

The folks who trod this staircase first
have already undergone reversals
for now, marble gnawed
and sculpted by the wind
stands mutely upon them.

Serviceable staircase
leading up to fantastic scenes:
curtains closing on enchantment
and downwards to the rainy street,
tally my steps with theirs.