The Landing

The stair does not end; it only stops being climbed. Somewhere below every flight there is a floor that was never poured, a landing that waits with the patience of a thing that has already happened. It does not chase, because it does not need to: everything the stair drops eventually arrives. It stands where the fall stops and takes stock of what it catches, hardens the ground under itself before the next body lands, and studies the drop the way a floor studies whatever is coming down to meet it. Then, when the weight above has built long enough, the landing simply receives it. It kept the heat of the old stair-lamps: the grit it sheds is still hot, and what works into your boot goes on burning.