There’s a time,
for introspection,
and sharing thoughts that
jumble together one moment
and stretch like a silk-woven tapestry the next.
It’s the best of existence,
a weaving of branch and twig,
a collection of objects to hoard and savour –
something to keep me safe.
I’m wondering in the chill air of the early morning
how fruitful it actually is to pick this nest apart.
Branch by branch,
item by item,
remove the feathered interior
and let the layers become bare to the world.
I’m wondering how fruitful this dissection could be –
in a world that responds to wholeness,
that respects the product
but never the process.
What will I find in there?
Hidden away,
a relic of another time.
What will I find in there?
Displace ego and a
recipe for Grandma’s chocolate pudding.
What will I find in there?
A pink now-stolen 90s cassette player,
ready to play forgotten girl bands –
or a late 90s CD player, proudly blaring Little Sister, from Jewel,
in an attempt for a young mind
to understand an ounce of sadness.
What will I find there?
Melted candles and late night horror movie sleepovers;
fearing for my life in a cocooned safety-net.
What will I find there?
love, loss, reunion and learnings.
I awake, from a deep slumber,
ready to dissect it all –
pull on the threads of the tapestry
and un-weave a little.
But a fear takes hold,
akin to watching Scream for the first time,
and I’m jolted into motionlessness.
What if the unpicking unfolds me –
What if a slow dissection leaves me broken in parts
that can’t be put back together?
Maybe it’s better to reflect
on this material art as a whole –
watch it from above,
acknowledging the beauty,
labour and pain it took
to create it in the first place.
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