Restoration

Everyone knew the house 
Wouldn’t sell
I saw their eyes turn
Away at the creaking floor
Peeling kitchen walls

Tiny room left
Empty after the
Boy left it’s banks
Left his mark high
Above the scared post.

It was left untouched
A river body sludge
Swept through the garage
My hands pink and sore
Trying clean it.

Faces of relatives 
Left stacked with spider
Guardians, nasty black
Toxic, venemous
Leaving their mark.

I painted squares of mild rose
On the roses, soft blue in bedroom
Trying to cover the screams
And penciled notes
A mark of growth.

I’ll never know. What one part
Could match the calm beneath
The river-
A house that sold
Owners bent on restoration.

12 Nov 04

Dave Barber

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