THE FRAME

I stepped out of the heart shaped frame,
The one on the right side her bed,
Leaving her in the portrait alone,
And paced the floor instead,

It had been a while,
Since I walked around her bedroom,
Especially when she was at work,
Or anytime before noon,

I wasn’t there to snoop around,
Instead to listen to the walls sing their song,
Listening carefully to their tone,
To see where I went wrong,

Untying first, and removing my shoes,
I retraced my steps upon the carpet,
Replaying historical arguments,
Refusing to consider her as the target,

The walls led me to the kitchen,
Where she slaved for hours to make dinner by five,
I could’ve given a helping hand, cut up a lemon,
Or put the place settings by her side,

I walked down the hallway listening,
Grabbing two towels, and two washcloths in that order,
Placing them on the restroom countertop,
Lighting a candle, and running warm bath water,

It was obvious that the walls spake,
Reminding me of all things certain, all things pure,
Whether or not it was too late for me,
I was more than uncertain, I was unsure,

But I did walk the place,
With hopes that her anguish towards me might change,
Looking back once more, I stepped into the portrait next to her,
Yes back into the frame..