Painting the Darkness

In this season of transitions

as unhappy as they are necessary

with the cat of our children’s childhood 

put down for old age and then

our last child leaving home to seek 

his fortune

In this nightmare year of convulsive changes

my wife and I settle into our irrelevance

another too-short summer dissolving before our eyes

only so many more Christmases to go

My wife set to remodeling when we gave up our cat

and when our son left, she overhauled his entire

room, painting the worn hardwood floor

moving the bed from its corner

to beneath the window

adding a futon sofa

The sadness of my son’s absence

still drifts in the sunbeams 

about the ghosts of his melancholy

(he was quite properly bored and anxious 

here) but they’re dignified 

by the attention

and, honestly, it’s better than what it would

have become had we left it alone:

a museum of dust and inattention

borne of equal parts sadness and

fear

These changes being what they are

this wasn’t enough. Soon our broken

and dusty stairs were redeemed

as my wife’s mahogany brown floor paint

slid smoothly across the filled cracks 

A cool green to match the stair risers

overtook the stained yellowy plaster of the walls

the white trim glowing like redemption

a halo to surround and crown the darker colors

Our stories haven’t changed

laughter and tears alike

lie fixed beneath this now-new paint

and I wonder how many more 

families’ stories will play out

in this century-old pile

when my wife and I are gone

Someone will one day

paint over us
my silent prayer is they at least 

coordinate the colors 

and keep that trim 

gleaming.

Poem and photo Copyright © 2020 by Lawrence Roy Aiken.