I have painted over the life of the past
My father's pencil figures
that calculated cuts for paneling up the stairs
Which I removed
The hole in the wall made by his fist
pounding in an effort
to wake up my brothers for Sunday Mass
Which I repaired
The inside of a door where we measured
our growth year by year
our names penned in my mother's loopy script
Which were never painted over
I long ago removed
heavy shades and curtains from the windows
to shine light on corners where sorrow lingers
but there are still things I don't understand
That is not my purpose here
My purpose is to remember
then put those memories where they belong-
in the past
The echoes have been absorbed
by plaster walls and wood floors
The quiet here mocks our noisy history
I clean and paint, replace and repair
to soothe the wounds of the past
The wounds my siblings avoid
by avoiding me
The same wounds I wanted to escape
But I stay and work
for no one else wants the task
The sun through the windows
takes on a golden hue on clean cream walls
The corners reflect light
The light that is for me and mine
today

(c) Linda Gayton 2005