The Stripped Paper

It had to dome off the walls.
She knew it when she moved in
that cold November morning.
Sickly, the gulls

did not resemble the ones that
sat on the pier outside her window.
Instead, they hung in mid-flight
against the wall, flat and unfinished

as the room felt.
Years too late, she had the paper
stripped off, pulled from place.
The room, oddly barren,

Devoid of gulls, expanded
and took its first breath in years.
She felt its laughter, gasped to herself
and held her heart fast.

The color would come;
days from now she would see it,
bright and free of gulls.
The idea of tomorrow.

And she left the room alone
to breathe, much like a new lung
adjusting to life

(c)Nancy Powell        2007

from How Far Is Ordinary

Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA