Sixteen brave years later
I am still getting paint
on the carpet - of course
a different carpet, newer paints
my hands no longer my only paint brush
my hands still not always clean

Twelve tranquil years later
the walls of my bedroom are still
dressed up in paintings and photos -
not all of their subjects
still living

Somewhere in my parents basement is
a box full of kindergarten stories
bubbly letters, chewed crayons, innocence -
somewhere in their basement, but
everything down there is covered in dust