I spackled in the boys’ room today,
Years after our boys ceased to lounge there,
Putting soft white plaster over tiny holes,
And smoothing it off with a small metal spatula,
Filling in all the cavities and mars in the pale blue walls,
Preparation, long over due, for painting the room.
Nail holes, pin holes, tack holes, clustered low,
Just about three feet up from the worn carpet,
Then a batch higher and denser at about four and a half feet,
And last of all holes grouped more sparsely at the six-foot level.
I don’t recall what they hung on those walls but,
I do remember the sweet smell of their freshly bathed bodies,
And the beguiling melody of
“Good night Mama.”
Cerita M. Hewett
Revised June 6, 2007