The bookshelf left a scar of dust

The bookshelf left a scar of dust

on the eggshell white.

And there, two feet from the floor,

is the silver stroke of a pencil.

I pressed hard to make it stay.

A level line to hold the wood straight

before the books piled up

and hid the wall for three years.

It’s a bright, greasy streak.

It doesn't wash off with a thumb.

It just smears into a grey bruise,

a bit of lead trapped in the grain.