A pair of 99s that make a whole
We built the stairs following contours around the hill. They were curvy, long, stone, and strong, and we used black humus for the fill. We wanted to be able to climb up from any side, to dance and jump and prance and ride our clumsy ponies without cutting up our heels.
The mountain goats once bounced around from rock to skree leaving only turds, and now we hoped that we were free to clamber even if we seemed wobbly and absurd. We changed its shape to suit us: we cut trees, we flattened rocks, and killed the native herd.
The final step was the smallest, encircling the tiny crest. We all cambered for the best top spot, pushed and pinched and bit and spit for the race that we had bought.
We walked all up and down and up and down and our calves began to grow. We remembered when we couldn’t climb so high and we sighed with great relief. We marveled at the color blue, we sat in awe of vistas far beneath.
We gaze upon our baren hill, our tower to the sky. We are thankful for the staircase, but now we’ve had our fill.