Ten Years In

Live in a house long enough
and you'll paint things more than
once. I know ceilings, cabinets,
walls well now, ten years in.

I see where your hands have been:
that baseboard, painted just up to
where something used to be--
your desk? Then, dingy old paint

from there to the corner. So
many places you missed, or just
didn't see. Then again, my attention
to detail--never seeing the whole.

Perfectionists never really finish
anything. Maybe that's why I paint
and paint again, no matter if
it's colors or words.

Later, I scrape dirt and grease
from kitchen cabinets, layered on
out of sight up top—how many
curries, stir-fries, burgers left

their marks here, even as they
filled us, sustained us? I labor,
scrub, clean well--but I don't get
it all. Something always remains.

House and heart—today,
telling similar stories.