Paint, or Fatal Flaws

Hells Bells

Location: Heart of the Heart of the Country
Birthday: February 01

Bio: Book editor, parent, MFA in poetry from a land far, far, away--and a long, long time ago . . . I'm not a psychologist, but I play one on TV.

MY RECENT POSTS

Mom Always Liked You Best
September 19, 2011 04:53PM
First Blog, Fernsy OC
August 08, 2011 01:58PM
Dreaming of Tornadoes?
April 21, 2011 01:46PM
Not Dead Yet
March 07, 2011 04:06PM
Paint, or Fatal Flaws
January 25, 2011 02:05PM

MY RECENT COMMENTS

“The best thing about that movie was that HE CHASED HER.”
February 15, 2012 02:19PM
“I like the light and dark here quite a bit.”
February 09, 2012 02:07PM
“Hi, Ann! Thanks for this post. I've got one of those soft splits. Also a c-pap ma…”
February 09, 2012 02:03PM
“My own mother took care of herself, with some inadequate and constantly shifting…”
October 12, 2011 03:16PM
“I like how your early event dovetails into current event(s). And I remember the P…”
October 12, 2011 03:10PM

Hells Bells's Links

About teaching and learning: Why Haiku Suck and What You Should Do About It; But Isn't It All Just Subjective Anyway?
Oh, come on, it wouldn't kill you to read a poem: Short Fiction; The Passage (Sestina); My Mother Walks Ahead of Me; Self-Portrait with Fox, Crow, and Fish; Just What We Always Wanted; The Passion of Snow; On Adak Island; The Accidental Poetry of Alzheimers; The Vireo (Villanelle); Paint; My Hat; Loving the Unpoetical Midwest; Space Within (Bridge Poem); The River Goes; Filmstrip
Memoir, or something like it: The Amazing Plaid Bomber Jacket; Goodbye, Bipolar Brother; The Happiest Day of My Life; Murder for Hire: Working for the Hit Man Publisher; Civilly Disobedient and Proud of It on the Fourth of July; How I Became a Poet; Harry Harlow's Monkey Studies and Me; Scratch the Surface, Open a Vein; Lamborghini Murcielago vs. Honda Civic; Charles Manson Murderers Are After Us
The infamous bipolar child series: Living with a Bipolar Child; Why I Wrote the Bipolar Child Story; The End of the Bipolar Child Story

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JANUARY 25, 2011 2:20PM

Rate: 13 Flag

Wood_Painted_03_UV_H_CM_1

Summer, early morning, grass still wet
and webbed by spiders, I painted a house,
helping my brother lift the wooden ladder

off the truck, spill cool streams into cans.
White paint went on approximate and pure,
and as heat lines struggled off the truck,

the trees, galvanized aluminum gutters,
turning everything gold, I thought
how all that year I’d argued, lied,

said things I hadn’t meant, then felt regret.
Sun rose over the sloping roof—
stroke slid into stroke, unevenly.

Near summer’s end the house stood shuttered,
white and perfect from the street,
as if none of my mistakes had mattered.

photo: maxTextures.com

Author tags:

ann nichols, open call, poetry, regret, forgiveness, redemption

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Comments

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Forgive me--it's both a poem and a repost. This is really how I think about being flawed, though.

Hells Bells

January 25, 2011 02:21 PM

so beautiful

hyblaean- Julie

January 25, 2011 02:25 PM

Might be a bit of a whitewash, if you will.

Hells Bells

January 25, 2011 02:45 PM

i'm jamming reading this cool enjambment.

Chuck A. Stetson

January 25, 2011 02:54 PM

One downside to labor-savings devices: If you'd rented a sprayer for a perfect paint job, you'd have saved time but this poem wouldn't have been written.

r

Con Chapman

January 25, 2011 03:21 PM

Love this...xox

Robin Sneed

January 25, 2011 03:32 PM

I'm "jambing" with Chuck.
This was wonderful - I read it a few times.
And may I say I always love to see your avitar pop up!!!

trilogy

January 25, 2011 03:57 PM

I like this very much, nothing to forgive.

latethink

January 25, 2011 07:06 PM

I am so glad you re-posted this. Absolutely beyond words gorgeous and subtle. Thank you.

Alysa Salzberg

January 25, 2011 08:44 PM

It is a very, very good poem and thus a welcome repost (riposte?). Perhaps my favorite thing is the combination of "approximate and pure" and "stroke slid into stroke, unevenly." Those carefully chosen words say much.

AtHomePilgrim

January 26, 2011 07:33 AM

lovely. we all need that kind of perspective

Terry Derrick

January 28, 2011 01:48 PM

i'm late but stunned by this gorgeous thing. repost or not, it's, ahem, flawless.

femme forte aka candace

January 29, 2011 04:11 PM

I love this, HB. It's kind of a refreshing mental image that I think will linger with me--the idea of a newly painted--whitewashed if you must--little house that can seem perfect from a distance.

Lainey

January 30, 2011 03:26 PM

House as metaphor for the soul.

Surazeus

February 04, 2011 01:22 PM

A little sweat seems to open up the mind. The agony of finishing new drywall or plastering is that the imperfections always exist, they just get smaller; they continue to feel the same size, until acceptance. From a distance, perfect. Nice poem.