Elissa Matthews | I Blow Shit Up, It’s What I Do

I blasted a hole in a mountain’s flank
gouging a tunnel with charred stone walls
the width of a train
so I could escape.

I toppled two buildings on one narrow street.
The park there now has a lake and three swans.
There’s lilacs in planters
but children run free.

I aimed a sodium bomb at the heart
of a clog that grew from soap and dead hair,  
birthing clear water
to hurtle away. 

I placed a precision butterfly charge
gently between us, so tenderly shaped
it took you two days 
to see I was gone.





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