Naked Canvas
Just when she thinks she’s picked up all pieces
of her broken heart, a misstep across
the kitchen floor finds one more shard ready,
willing, and able to pierce the soft flesh.
She questions, cries. Alone for the first time,
uncertainty lurks in every corner.
Each groan of rafters, creak of the floor boards
becomes a ghost walking through and stopping.
With each drop of blood on cracked tile, she feels
his promises, elusive as the wind,
come back and disappear just as they did
before, when he shattered both love and trust.
He watches from outside the circle of
her warmth, offers solace, comfort, passion
– not for her, not now – as she stumbles on
the memories scattered through their house – once home.
She pulls pictures from frames, throws paint on walls
to cover images of love-making
cast there by candles lit, now long gone out,
passion and desire – following suit.
With each stroke of color, she heals again,
a naked canvas, new life, waiting for her.
Siobhan
09/29/09
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