In Blue

all is new
and yet familiar;
the smell of drying paint
takes me back
to being twelve:
a broken bone and
a sticky, almond-
scented cast.

you work
to the kind of blue.
i watch you, spellbound
by your razor-sharp
laughter lines
and long, skilled hands.

water splashes
echo throughout
the emptied bathroom,
alabaster walls
clear my mind of
caustic thoughts.

i light a bonfire
to burn my mistakes,
my regrets, guilts
and darkest moments,
placing the ashes
in my pocket
for future reference.

you smile at me
from your silver pedestal,
painting light onto the walls:
a tall and kind-eyed angel
watching over me.

with you, all is new;
and though i may be
secondhand, my old self is
starting with a clean slate.
i'm not panicking.