Mitch Avitt We Met on the Steps

We Met on the Steps AVITT

New Architecture refuses age, like plastic refuses breaking down. It won’t accept the patina of time, instead it flashes, an instant, for Insta.

Architecture, distracted by fame and the thrill of the cutting edge, forgot the simple sublimity of letting people know they, as humans, exist.

But here, I know for certain you exist(ed). I can tell from dimples resting on each step, gentle reminders of feet long since on their way.

I might even know who you are. But I have no way of knowing if I’ve followed in your footsteps or if you’ve followed in mine.

Even as strangers, we’ve been more intimate than most. Our hands held each other through a banister, once bronze, now gold.

Mitch Avitt, M.Arch

I’ve touched the world you knew and you’ve touched the world I know. The same place. A different time.

You took some atoms with you while I left some behind. Your determined steps causing predetermination in mine.

I wonder about you, the one from before. Do you wonder about me, the one from after? This thought travels, like a reflection between two mirrors, inextricably towards infinity.

This is the subtle comfort in breaking down, in wearing out, in age. It’s us - moving atoms - Not at the same time, But together.

*This poem won the Bee Breeder’s Poems of a Modern Day Architect competition, and is featured in Archive Books Spring 2020 publication