She is a stair.
One of the many.
Maybe made of sturdy boards
from ancient many-ringed oak trees.
Crowns reaching towards the golden sunlight.
I am too.
Not so grand.
I am poured concrete,
a rough surface to scratch your feet.
I am cold and unadorned. I am no beauty.
I cannot say
you will not stumble
will not stub your toe upon the step.
I cannot promise to lead you somewhere
greater than she. Me, without visible appeal.
But should you choose
to take your journey with me
you will find you do not compete with
many busy hands and busy feet, fighting for the top
and though I am not the most appealing, I will take you
higher than you've ever been. And though she may weaken
in time. I will never let you fall through. You will never break me
and though time and wind and rain may test us, I will never break you.