DEATH Poem: 72. change of state, by Valerie Jardine

my walls have always been painted pink
always as in the last year and two months
and then before my last apartment when I still lived with my dad
my childhood bedroom
childhood as in high school and college
the only bedroom filled with inconsistent consistency
my furniture constantly shifting from corner to side-of-door
to under the window at 3am, no one home to hear
home as in the house we’ve had for 10 years
the only location my life has ever been rooted to
over 28 housing units to call home in 25 short years of life
short as in time spent with him
his presence heavy in the halls like Christmas decorations
hung in a home with no parents
clothing several sizes too big clinging to small frames
bedding stuffed into trunks to preserve the scent of someone no longer around
no longer around as in spending the first week without him
completely redecorating with no time to mourn the way the house looked
for years before
how state of change is constantly in motion
there’s never time to grab what’s currently around long enough
never time as in never enough time to fly down and see us
hosting family members who could barely pick me out of a lineup
stripping my dead father’s bed for guests to sleep in
trashing the grounds of the last coffee he brewed for unloving in-laws
writing an obituary for a man I hugged three days ago
who changed the oil in my truck and admired the sunset with me
sent me $50 for barely helping to paint the old pink walls in my bedroom
the weight of emotion saturated in those walls is enough
for the pink to stay hidden under cool toned greys.
I moved into the basement just to paint my walls pink again.

Author: poetryfest

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