I learned of the board when I was three

Jumping each step to the first floor.

“Listen, Mommy!” I shouted with glee

And of course stomped on it once more.

At sixteen I avoided that fifth step

Creeping out when the house was asleep.

Walking on the very edge made me very adept,

Just like the lies my sister promised to keep.

I still live in that house but I am old now

And slowly maneuver those old stairs.

The ancient creak sounds like an old sick cow

But I love the memories of youthful dares.