The Wallpaper
torn down.piece by piece,
a brown skin dyed with
pain, truth, and the strange matters of marriage.
it would be easier to forget,
just paint over it,
no scraping the glue that
never held quite right;
or the little paper bits
that remain like remnants of
remembered hurts.
we wrote on it,
painted on it,
drew pictures of our desires
as if it were magical,
as if it could grant
perfect harmony.
we stand staring, now,
at all we hoped for
crumbling, decaying at our feet,
glue browned with time like old blood,
wondering how much sorrow
a house can hold.
