March 22, 2021
I am a lonely painter; I live in a box of memories.
Cracks run across the ceilings, hairline fractures in the foundations
And the smudge marks of your fingerprints dot the walls.
The hot chocolate stain that runs down behind where a sofa one sat
A clumsy afterthought at the end of a long winter day
So quickly forgotten behind a pile of blankets.
And everywhere I turn there are holes forged from indecision
As we moved the Kodak memories around the room.
With each stroke of my brush I remove the traces of you
Sterile white into golden hues of yellow.
I pack photographs into boxes and stumble on forgotten memories
Shifting furniture and trying to build a life anew
All the while standing amidst the rubble of old.
A face I don’t know stares back from a mirror
Into a room once warmed by laugher.
Now I shiver and pull my jumper tighter
And send the bars of a somber Joni song
into a house that’s no longer a home.