Hands scraped, pulled and peeled.
Stripped bare in three hectic days
she gave up secrets long unseen.
Layer upon layer
she revealed her past.
Mauve moons, café scenes
wedgewood-blue stenciled designs
pale rose buds the last.
Memories removed, she stood
waiting, exposed
until they came again.
Colors slathered, rolled.
Taupe, beige, and palest grey.
Senses dulled, she cowered,
pale in disbelief.
Windows wide-eyed,
she watched
as strangers came to gawk.
Pried her private parts,
talked as if she was not there.
Once so full of life and love,
a shell of what she was.
Homeless,
just a house
lifeless on the streets.
lillian the home poet 