I let you put the picture on the wall, 
my wall, 
that wall; 
a reminder of past oppression 
fraught with sadness. 
It darkened the room. 
The winter was long and cold and stale. 
In the spring, I wanted a fresh start. 
Let in the light. 
Let the air flow. 
I moved the picture and you were so angry. 
You said I had promised to keep that picture right there 
on that wall 
before us forever 
as your memorial of our oppression, 
but we had never had that discussion. 
You can’t hold the walls of my house hostage 
any more than the walls of my heart. 
The picture is embedded on my heart 
but I have made my peace.