"I Paint Flowers So They Will Not Die"

^^That's what Freida said
but I paint furniture so many things won't die.

The person who created it
The one who owned it
Their memories
Their touch
Their legacy
The scents of their kitchens, absorbed in the wood
Myself...

They must live on
Screaming in colors, saying
"Look at me, now!"

I keep the scars intact--
What would a table or chair, be
without the dents and gouges
of Thanksgiving platters
and pie knives
that have left their presence ?

Someone's essay, carved in
from a too heavy pen on paper,
still visible with new paint,
cleaned and polished
but still there
like their voices from the past
if you listen closely enough.

Everything has a story.
There's a story to everything.

I will find it and bring its luster back
and keep time for them
while I hope someone will do the same for me
someday.