Wallpaper

It was the wallpaper.

He saw the baby's face.

But the baby never came home.

His wife never came home.

All he could see was what wasn’t there anymore.

He began peeling the paper off the walls.

Slowly at first almost with reverence, then carelessly recklessly

Until he was in a frenzy ripping paper.

Steaming and ripping. Steaming and ripping.

One last look in the face of the vision he had held for himself

before slumping

melting

Like the glue that held the paper fixed to the wall.

He crumbled fetal heaving in a torrent of tears

Shrieking in silence bursting within.

You don’t know.

You don’t know until you do.

And then what.