Bianca Pina – broken things
it’s beautiful it leaves one nothing
when broken
to do but carve
something slow
enduring
is a childhood a quarry
that could have been
a grassed hill it’s not possible
earth’s organs to glide the slabs:
slide out rust-veined rock
in heaving blocks lucent crystal
back into place
my memory
a fallen plate to cover it
some pieces over –
are lost
others slice open there will never be
a hill there
a hand
in collecting my life
a museum
it’s beautiful no, a temple
when it’s broken for broken things