A Record of Things

Of peeling stories off the wall
paper in layers, in ribbons,
of how tall Cathy Jean was
on her different birthdays.

It peels off in reminders
of who got in trouble
for coloring on the wall,
a kid kind of cave art,
clumsy circles, a school
of jellyfish, maudlin shapes
that look like the things
we want them to.

Under the paper, stains
and bumps, little valleys
and ridges where cats scratched,
dents where door knobs scarred,
and those bright places
where pictures hung:
family reunions and school portraits,
loyal defenders of pea-green paisley,
of pears and roosters,
of gold filigree.

© Cindy Kelly