First of all, the furniture is rearranged,
Shifted here and there: a blunt knife
To cut light and shadow;
As if the complex architecture of their life
Could so simply be changed:
A sofa, a chair, a table by the window.
Still, it remains more Hopper than IKEA.
Next, they redecorate; take paint and brush,
Overlay the cold, stark, strident white
Of wall, cornice and ceiling
With pastels, warm, soft, hushed,
To quieten the hue and cry -
A camouflage, a toning down of feelings.
As if colour could cover and dilute the fear.
They move house - a last resort - their baggage
Packed, but it’s a ballast too heavy
To save them from the wreckage of truth,
A listing and sinking beyond salvage,
The deceit a wave spilling over the levee.
And love is a compass pointed north and south,
So the geography is a map that shreds and tears ...
A topographical tale that ends in tears.
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