Ugly in Transition

There is work to do.
The pain flakes
and needs to be stripped,
because a mere cover never lasts.

You have to get down to the bare wood,
raw and worn,
because only on nakedness
does paint do more than cover,
it bonds, it seeps
into the pores and becomes one
with the wood, a shield against storms

and far more beautiful
than layer after layer of paint.

Oh but the work
Hard. Slow. Tedious,
exposing the flaws,
finding the rot
you would rather ignore,
taking longer than you imagined.

It makes you hurt, this work.
You feel exposed, as if
you have neglected the columns
that bear it all.
It is ugly
in transition,
but then,
restoration always is.

About this poem

When things fall apart, we rebuild. It’s messy work, whether a building, or a life.

Tom