you may think
that the extension’s endless,
you can
pull—– pull—–
further–
longer— strong_er,
bit of pain—
bEArable,
but then—
the heart– suddenly
snaPs back like rubber strap,
to where the roots lie–
driLLs big holes inside your chest&
striPS you NA_
ked, if
you’re Joan Miró, you etch
reD and Black, blaCK // Red in
small-scale, & your hands smell
of blood and charcoaled earth of civil war,
touch DEStrucTION&
no matter
where you are, you’re–
stretch//– sCRAtch//– NooO!!! you’re
neVer sAFe,
oil-Rage
Picasso-like, in painting Guernica,
bombs in your eyes, fall
when you hear about the kids that die
in a school on Placa San Felipe Neri– &
the only thing that you can do is, take the
crumbled stones and build anew, i
was a teen, working
in city hall, social welfare branch,
when a group of refugees came into our
town, and they were sitting in the office,
smiling, smiling, a bit lost when my boss
explained assistance to them,
only now,
i think,
i see what spans like rubber band,
reaching
from their bare, white teeth,
deep
into the choking chambers of
a badly savaged land
.
Karin is the woman behind the dVerse bar today and she has prepared a prompt for us that takes us to the heart of exile and beyond.. Miró and Picasso were in France when the civil war savaged their beloved Spain and they both captured some of the terror in their paintings.. the school on Placa San Felipe Neri was hit when Hitler bombed Barcelona and they rebuilt it with the crumbled stones that were left…learned about all this on my visit to Barcelona last week..so really thankful for a journey that taught and touched me on different levels…
