Looking Up
There is water damage on our bedroom ceiling
which has been getting worse with each hard rain.
I'm to the point that I dread the weather forecast,
the threat of rain, as they say.
This isn't the first time we've been through this.
A few years back we returned home from Florida
to discover the drywall fallen like broken sponges
across our bed, the dressers, the carpet.
We put in a new metal roof, new carpet, fresh drywall-
a complete redo that felt like a form of freedom-
and it was a surprise pleasure to walk through
the mudroom and into, what, Spring?
We have lots of theories for what's causing this:
the pitch of the roof, poor water-proofing
around the chimney, the wrath of God.
All I know is that with each new stain,
with every chipping away of the plaster
at the seams, I am reminded that we
can patch and sand and paint and refresh,
but everything, everything decays, and we fight
until we are worn away, until the day
we come to love, not this place, no,
but the stories of the passing storms
and of the water that will have its way.
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