Fold this for a minute…

My past is a detailed map

of mosaic tiles; true picture
discerned only from a distance

up close, personal, the lines
of each piece go every which
way and intersect at odd angles
going nowhere and everywhere

Step back a bit and the picture
comes into cleaner, crisper focus
you see where you have been
where you are currently headed

But no matter how you try you
will never be able to get it folded
like it was, nicely creased, then
back into the glovebox properly

As it should be, as I am; colorful,
intricate, cartographer’s nemesis
not easily compartmentalized.

KAAAA-boom

Periodically, I implode
my muse a well-placed charge

when set off correctly, it does
the job neatly, as it should, with
a dusty cloud of self-regard

blowing up something big
irrevocably changes the skyline,
surrounding landscape, leaving an
wobbly pile of rubble to be climbed
on and explored, sifted through,
then hauled away

Only then is it time to build anew

Wry smile confirms that I had a blast,
as my hat and hair remain askew