Primer

They scraped the hallway down to the bone,

cleared the grit and the scuffs I’d known.

The landlord hired a crew of three

to sand away the history of me.

I used to lean there, checking my mail,

my shoulder finding the plaster’s braille.

There was a smudge of oil, gray and deep,

where my head rested when I couldn't sleep.

Now it’s all smooth and smells of the can,

a blank-faced wall for a different man.

My sweater won’t snag on the rough parts now,

and I’ve forgotten where I leaned, and how.