First, I must mud
and wait for drying,
sand and dust,
prime and wait,
when I am impatient
to see the smear of color
on the wall, the completion
of decor and dreams,
the room at last a space
of respite to live in.
Impatient I am, too, for
the painting of me,
chafe at the sanding block,
wince at application of another coat,
the curing of a life,
my mind always imagining what could be,
amazed at what finally is instead.

This poem first appeared in An Ariel Anthology (2014).
Used here with the author’s permission.