I purchased this painting
from a tall artist
thirty times four days ago
in Taos, New Mexico,
following a frightful phase
ending with shattered glass,
and my heart sticking
to the cupboards and floor.
It spoke to something
seared open inside,
an organ grand bursting wide.
I cried and cried in that time.
When a heart explodes,
it spreads outside,
bursts through earlobes,
needles its way through nostrils,
sinks into sheets
with sighs then sobs.
Everything gets softened.
Fireworks light up
the lining of the lungs,
shoelaces holding
parts together
come undone.
Little by little
a thread moves in,
a needle its neighbor,
a string then a stitch,
wool pulled through rebuilding,
beating begins.
Pulsing peeks
with weary eyes,
decides to reside
among the living again.
The specimen sings
through the mending
like a knitting grandmother
in her rocking chair
humming away cares.
Yellow roses blossom
over torn tendrils.
Thorns quietly lie beside them,
offering gentle protection.
Fragrance finds family
in the garden,
earth escapes
into quiet caves there.
Beings buzz
inside the temple
holding the soul.
I till its soil,
give great care,
kiss the skin within,
make peace
with where I’ve been,
know choices lead
to a new, improved heart,
alive in a more spiritual realm,
with celestial characters
catering to its needs.
I see light leaking
in through peepholes,
wisdom making
this hole in me whole.
By Suzanne Beranek