The Lighthouse Stairs

Sarah Gill

The lighthouse stairs 
coil downward 
like a thought refusing to finish. 

Each step worn smooth 
by the weight of looking. 

Below— 
a checkerboard floor 
where light argues with shadow. 

Outside the tower lifts 
its black-and-white spine 
into the wind. 

Salt everywhere— 
the Atlantic breathing 
in long animal lungs. 
 
The water held the sunset 
like a secret— 
gold spilling across the sound 
to a dock that waited for night. 

Somewhere along this coast 
two brothers once stepped into air 
and called it flight. 

Standing there 
with the wind pulling at my shirt, 

I begin to suspect the world 
has always been a set of stairs 
spiraling outward
into sky. 

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Sarah Gill
Sarah Gill is a writer from Oklahoma whose work often explores memory, family, and the quiet emotional forces that shape a life. She spends much of her time writing, reading poetry, and collecting small moments that later find their way into her work.