Splitting

Cleft, Bereft. They call my house

a symbol of heart-ache: things

coming undone. But I, at its

heart, find joy in the jump

across the divide with a thump, a thump.

Yes in the rain it’s a bit of

a piddle, but dry skies draw back

my eyes to gaze onwards

and upwards, both inside

and outside: a perspective of stars

whilst a cracked bar of soap

plays into the splits

and the fissures of hands we call fingers.

Matta Clark: Splitting