Poem: Safe Steps

A poem about the spirits under our house. Good spirits. I hope.

There are phantom footsteps outside our
place some nights — something about
the energy of a valley, certain sounds

that echo; sometimes dull or else quite
sharp. But I’ve come to enjoy them when
I hear them. Such a western thing, to

think of spirits as ‘evil’. I like where I live,
so it’s not unreasonable to think someone
else once liked it too. And whether they’re

back to check in on the place — or
to check up on me, there’s a safety attached.
Some scurrying, but no hurrying in those steps.