House Asunder @ 2016 Bo Mackison
Sometimes, after I create a mandala, I look and I see a story. Or in this case, a story written through poetry.
House Asunder
Split asunder, this house of me.
Unholy and discordant, I search old bones
for moments caught — oh tenuous, the breakthrough —
the scour of memory for treasure once shiny
bright and ribbon wrapped.
In the rubble, ladders suspended, the route out
is unclear. Heart explosions are messy affairs.
Yet shimmers cannot be denied, light still flickers
on splinters and shards. Whose task is this?
The putting together of that which has come apart?
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Playing with the practice of combining mandala making and poetry writing, part of an online workshop I’m creating that meld words, vision and place. Details coming soon!
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