Sticky Residue

Peeling back the old paint,

my fingers curl around thick strips

of cracked, gray caulk, stubborn and slow.

It clings like a memory—

sticky, chemical-scented, hard to shed.

Strands pull, catching on rough skin,

leaving thin ribbons that refuse to wash away,

residue pressed into the rough wood grain,

a gray scar tracing the frame’s tired edge.

Hands coated in dust and the smell of weather,

I press, scrape, and pull,

but the stubborn skin beneath the paint

holds on to the past like a wound that won’t close.