The Layer Below

The radiator hisses a dry, metallic heat

that has finally cooked the glue.

Behind the iron ribs, a seam has split,

curling back like the wing of a dead moth

dry and stiff against the baseboard.

I reach back and pull a narrow strip.

It comes away with a sound like a long sigh,

revealing a scrap of newsprint from forty years ago

and a smear of gray adhesive

that was supposed to hold the flowers in place forever.

It’s all just paper over a hollow space.