Poetry Corner: Sandra Anfang “Patching Holes”

I kneel at the edge of my partner’s longing
a tub of Fix-all in one hand
a spatula in the other.
I move along the stairwell
feeling for fissures in the drywall
as a doctor palpates flesh,
a squirrel searches out holes
to ply with acorns.
It’s easy to fill a lover’s vacuoles
to spread the thick balm of closure
over deep chasms:
a vague emptiness here
a shocking loss there
the death of a husband or wife
sealed with a lasting substance
a scab for triage
a scar to honor the learning.
I carry away stained clothes
torn photos
an orthopedic potty chair.
How painful it would be if these were mine.
Let me take this off your hands, I tell you
you have burned long enough on this pyre
rent your garments
turned your skin inside out
tasted your soul’s own ash,
but still your demons trumpeted
stubbed cigarettes in potted plants
penned hostile scribbles on the kitchen wall
all the way from Arizona.
You who have walked headlong into the fire
forsaken the detour
bared your stigmata
are free to dip your hands in virgin colors
and paint the house with joy
while I continue patching holes.