Sealed With Paint

And suddenly, the music stops,
Like paint stripped from the wall: raw, revealed, and silent.

The scent of paint thinner hangs like scarves in the air
As you rummage through box after box looking for that old blue baby blanket, the one with roses in the corners,

Unearthing meaningless curling irons and coffee makers,
Wiping the dust away from the countless covers of title-less books,
Leaving your fingers gray and your mouth framed in dry silence,

Sealed with paint–

As the letters lie, unopened and unheard, under the basement stairs,
Silent moths, fluttering against the ground, paper wings on a stale breeze.

The silent letters float
Past the bike racks, the shelves of soda bottles,
A grease-streaked photo album from a long-ago wedding.

Coated in living room green, flecked with daughter’s room pink,
Sealed with basement gray, they carry themselves to the stars.