The Grinning Earth

Burnt into sienna, swallowed by green
a face that forgot where it ended
and the earth began.
The mouth hangs open,
not in surrender,
but in the relief of finally
saying it.
Teeth like stones in a riverbed,
white and stubborn against the flood
of purple, copper, rust
colors that never learned
to be quiet.
Somewhere in the upper dark,
another face watches.
It has seen this before.
It always watches.
It never speaks.
The lines press close,
thick as rope,
black as the space
between one feeling
and the next
no air between the shapes,
no room for doubt,
only the curves
eating each other whole.
This is not a face.
This is the moment
you stop holding your jaw so tight.
This is the codex
they forgot to burn.
This is Guernica
if Guernica grew from soil
instead of smoke.

Even the earth screams sometimes
and when it does,
it opens its whole mouth.

Object number
015.099