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By Ali Date: 2006 Nov 06 Comment on this Work [[2006.11.06.18.46.6199]] |
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Ragged, a little see-through, soiled from use, then lack of use, and still, later, misuse. Marred by a spare thread, here and there, with a clumsy, half-aware, stitch, a band-aid to cover an explosion, with a little bit of the insides peeking out. The colors have faded in spots; others are inordinately bright-- a sign of peace, perhaps, a gesture toward tomorrow. I can't label the memories there, worn around the corners, a border of calamities edged around such a small world-- my heart is no masterpiece, no polished picture, no black and white glossy photograph. It's burnt in places, threadbare and unraveling, weak and wild and worn. And I can't undo the tapestry, or walk away from the limping promise, an outline of maybe, a thing risked, in order to believe. "Handle with care," "Fragile," and "Important: Do Not Bend" are signs that have long been erased, since time turned a trick or two. And, if you look quietly, you'll see a wake of disrepair, a elegantly sculpted wreck, a delicate despair. |