I pace myself with thoughts of trivialities
And brush depth aside like it is nothing
When I am called upon.
But I never call upon myself, for that would be too much effort.
I try hard to forget that I am rusty, too,
But you need so much more oil than I.
So take it all, and take it gladly
Because I’d love to see you glimmer
In the afternoon sun.

Your hinges no longer squeak in greeting,
But unfold in fluid motions to
Encompass my ragged entirety.
And I am rusting now,

I am rusting,
Russet and flaking.
My paint chips and I appear dull,
Weathered by water and watered by weather.
I only diminish.

Glass and translucency
Mock me continually
As I struggle to find the caverns
In their beautiful facet, undeterred,
But realize that cellophane
With its loud crinkling, stains
The sight instead.

If only I could show others
The way you paint
With my reds and chestnuts
And the sunsets that I choose to mimic.
The continual exposure wears me,
But I am galvanized by your whisper,
“You are iron.”