Small book of accordioned hexagons that opens out to reveal an original poem, housed in a handmade box:
Love is a honeycomb -
thin walls gently touch,
form hexes,
nature's magic angle
between them.
Inside each cell
someone feels safe.
Or trapped.
Someone casts shadows
on the walls, reads
the shapes of others.
Hexagons
are less than round -
over time things collect
in the almost corners.
Ordinary walls,
but from above,
beautiful,
repetition subtly
sliding into pattern.
The walls are
paper thin,
build a delicate
architecture.
But I bet they would
carry our weight.
Handmade box houses loose "pages" featuring photocopy artwork and original poetry about remembering home.
The Lens of Home
1. The lens of home grows thicker the longer we are gone.
2. Time is nearsighted.
3. An old man looking at childhood through thick spectacles : his eyes look huge.
4. Color gets through. Shape is distorted.
5. Faces! faces and works, blurred so he thinks he cannot remember.
6. He really just cannot see.
7. The lens of home is convex.
8. Everything is upside down.
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