We’ve been renovating our apartment lately, so I’ve spent a lot of time looking at bare walls, paint cans and marks where things used to hang. I think that’s what started these poems.
I kept thinking about how rooms can hold traces of what was there before, even when everything has been stripped away. These three poems all came from that in one way or another.
Retrace
I draw in every second breath,
hold it,
count to four,
pressing my fist to my ribs.
I walk backwards,
trying to retrace my steps,
but I keep tripping over
old planks
with nails still attached.
Under my hand,
the wall is thick with glue
from where I tried
to cover the holes,
smoothing over
every uneven spot,
every mark
I can’t seem
to find anymore.
Bare Walls
The walls stripped bare,
a faint shadow
where a picture used to hang,
the nail still sticking out.
Everything I own
gathered on the floor
under sheets of plastic.
Buckets of paint
stand in the corner,
unopened.
I rest my head
against the cool window glass
and draw in
a shaky breath.
Sleepwalking
Just as I lie down to sleep,
someone calls my name.
The shadow of a hand
resting on the handle.
I get up, stumble,
rub my eyes,
cross another threshold-
where a silhouette
dissolves into mist.
The door still moving
on its hinges.
Maybe that’s why empty rooms can feel a little unsettling. You can take everything out, paint over the walls and move things around, but somehow there are still traces left behind.
Do you have a room or a place that still carries memories for you?
Until next time,
Jonna
Leave a Reply