When the flood of shadows came for you,
they came bearing gifts of night.
I couldn’t see the black
waters rising, gently rocking our bed.
But they knew your name,
and sang to you—soothing
promises I could never make.
How weary your arms
must have been, straining
to hold the light.
How easy then to slip—
that warm womb sinking you
like a lullaby.
Devoured by silhouettes,
and in the morning,
gone.
–
Kelsey D. Mahaffey keeps half her heart in New Orleans and walks the Earth barefoot beside three humans and bow-legged cat. Her work can be seen in Arkansas Review, Pensive: A Global Journal of Spirituality & the Arts, Cumberland River Review, Writers Resist, Eunoia Review, and Minerva Rising Press. Her favorite food is arugula.
© 2025,Kelsey D. Mahaffey
Halfway Down the Stairs 