Divorce, Year 3

The wood winces in the hallway.

More and more it's hard to find a path

That doesn't rouse the floorboards,

It all aches and wakes the dogs

Who leave the sun to sniff the air.

Beneath the paint is a layer of paint

And painted paper under that,

The walls thick with years of wishes 

To brighten in the manner of the age.

This most recent coat is fine as nails

A warm winter white that could pass

As classic or neutral without quite 

Arriving at something baptismal.

Last March, double parked and heady,

Fatigue moved steady through our arms

The bedframe left a dent in the plaster.

You winced like wood at the sound.

Now at certain angles of the day I notice

The long-ago layers exquisitely revealed,

Thinning glimmers of everything still left

Just a nail's width under the surface