Heartache and Paint Stains
A Poem by Brigid Cooley
You know what I hate about this crummy town?
It is stained all over with the colors of others.
It's like a canvas after someone knocked over the paint bin.
Once, a blank slate; now, a masterpiece. Or a tragedy. Sometimes both.
There are some things that you can't get stains out of, no matter how hard you try.
Sidewalks
Jungle gyms
coffee shops
picnic tables
libraries
lips
That's just to name a few.
No matter what you try, you can't bleach fingerprints out of them.
You can throw away soiled clothing, but memories are a little harder to get rid of.
My friends say that time will bring me clarity.
I don't need that.
What I need is space that is free of hand-me-down mistakes, so that I can make some new ones.
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