Mary Davini




The stars have blinked off to their blue sleep
but I continue working.
I have found comfort in stripping this old door.
There’s something intimate
in the way it lets me take its layers
clean down to the soft pink pine.
I will admit there are certain spots
I have to scrape harder
to coax the old color away;
certain angles
my sweet sandpaper song must calm.
But in the end
it lays itself out unashamed.
I envy it,
this door with a second chance at life.
Starting over new and untainted,
clothed only in a silky spread of dust.