How easily the idea that

‘something better’ comes together

With simple addition and change of color.

Yellow brightened up the dusk

when the dawn settled in winter

Exacerbated the rays of the sun when summer finally came.

When I could no longer stare into the sun

I’d retreat back inside

Off the porch with no stairs

Into this little brittle pink house.

Wallpaper repeated red

Ran over by falling carnations.

Native Americans fleeing captivity

Finely painted on an antique pinball machine.

Dusted piano with out of tune black and white keys.

A hour glass with no sand left.

Remnants of unfinished Scrabble games

The letters were scattered everywhere.

Babe Ruth photograph framed next to an empty jug of water

That shook under the commotion of what lingered above.

A tug-o-war of sorts concerning financial issues and mother-daughter links.

Over and over promises that this could really work

With a new design, and a new extension

A new bathroom and refurnished kitchen.

Long days and nights gone fishing

Prayers, hopes, and wishing

Make up and white teeth that glistened

There was always something missing.

When the paint finally begins to peel

And all that you’ve built up is revealed

No matter how hard you tried to conceal

There will always be

A little brittle pink house.

Alex Kolpan can be reached at [email protected]