house painting - october

I do these things for you.
Cover myself in parsley
green, the paint sticking
to these feet, hands so white,
that do the work of love
my breast leaning into it,
like the mourning dove
spinning, she leans
to her nest, smoothing
the roughs, as I lean,
the roller flat to the wall,
covering acres of past:
nights of fear,
of tears, of so much
hurt. Wonder why,
when so much
love.
With each up
swing I pray, hum a tune
that this day be the first
That I paint
away the webs that link
to such ugliness. Pray
the future be
smooth  luminous
parsley and tiffany
green, the color of this
room. I spit in the bucket;
an old Celtic spell, say
your name three times,
pray sorrow to end.