Remains

White lead paint sloughed away,
exfoliated by wind and rain.

Bright cheeks weathered gray,
recalling laughter of yesterday.

Wooden legs on breakfast tables decay,

termites’ burrows where love was made.

Quilted squares enveloped our days–

loosened, unraveled, tossed out, replaced.

Small buds blooming on your navy chaise

crushed by pink and puppies and lace.

I search for one pale strawberry stain,

a landmark for lips which silently prayed.

Every single thing has changed.

All, save love, which clings to our frame.

-Bethany Wallace