Tunnel + Smash

Beneath us lay a tunnel
unwalked cobweb laden passage
bricks thick with a coat of dust
bricks smattered and inconsistent in color
laid to match an unfollowable pattern
Chalk brown and white green rectangles
the mortar lines uneven pale gray
there’s no direction suggested
all sides the arched ceilings
tarnishes to absence
bricks on bricks on one another
anyone a keystone to steal the tunnel
the air is silent but for a soft rip
of a thick piece of paper
from an undiscernable direction

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

10,000 feet above a miniature diorama

What trust to trust me with such a display, details layered, in details down to the uneven front yard. Even the front stair discolored from where the stain wouldn’t take. Details, inside the table cloth is strewn slightly uneven, on the tiny stove the front right burner has been left on while noodles strain in the sink, from the bathroom a drip is plipping into the tiny call foot tub. All of this constructed in a size half the width of a poster board. Able to be carried, as the display is now, by my own two hands. What magnificence given in whole care to myself. Details, the edge of the base housing the japanese maple tree digs into my palm, the dirt glued to the underside of the board sifts through my fingers. What was the expectation of the outcome? Where can this miniature world be kept safe? The foundation bends in my grip rippling a creased line on the underside that is almost unnoticeable. The inevitable should be apparent by now. Details, between the bits the blue carpet pad used under the stairs folds over, pink insulation that rested for a decade behind the uneven drywall fluffs up, the mismatched gutter once the length of the house is twisted. Just bits left after the board bent, as it went I pushed the fold in half, instinct clicked on and smashed to bits the little world. Just bits in a pile, waiting for the moss once on one side of the roof to regrow and recover.