Silent on the Stair, What a child sees of the evening, adult hush. Options

[bittersweet]

The Stair Way.

I remember sitting on the stair,
Not daring to breath with my head in my hands,
Listening to the forbidden sounds
Of adults in their time, and wondering
Who you were.
And often, hearing your foot upon the
Gravel and the turn of a key.
The ultimate symbol that evening
Was here, and the realms of night were ours.
And then you were a footstep upon
The stair, a glass of bitter tonic, and a
Rusty metal comb, and then of course the clatter
Of change let loose on a wooden table
And perhaps you'd peep beside
the door to check upon a sleeping girl,
But not so, and did you wonder
Who she was? Whose years were almost
Nothing, and tears as few.

But once I awoke you to tell me
A story, and maybe that was
Your happiest night, although your
Voice was gruff and face so
Grey with sleep. And as you held
That book, yet I forget the name,
Your shadow on the wall was so real, and magnificent,
That I folded my knees into my bedclothes
And all at once noticed the white tufts
Of hair beside your ears.