RO ON RUPTURED SPACE – 3

RUPTURE’S RAPTURES

Adam asks: “Indeed, is the violent rupturing of space a part of what it means to be alive, to be human?”

The repercussions of ruptured space need not always be negative, violent, or invasive.

Rupture could be found in the poetry of the French kiss, or the romantic rhapsody that ensues. A carnal captivity of body that at once releases mind. A death of sorts that creates life. Whereupon birth itself would be another of Rupture's displays.

Envision the shattering of shell by a helpless baby bird that emerges from the cracked egg, its endearing down all moist and ruffled.

Rupture is wondrous, indeed, when that skillful slit removes a malignancy with unerring precision, or ultrasound waves fragment kidney stones to shards, or the quotidian needle punctures the skin – granting another day to live.

Why, women’s legs wouldn’t be quite so baby-soft or men’s chests as beach-ready, were it not for the ripping rupture of hot wax.

Split a passion fruit, a mangosteen, a longan or a rambutan, and devour its tropical succulence as its juicy stickiness dabs your mouth. That’s rupture.

Rupture’s hand breaks oven-baked bread, fragrant and crusty, at Dinner's table.

Rupture would also be a new government at work, pulling out conservative edicts and injunctions. Maybe with a directive to shut down a detention camp at Guantánamo Bay – ending forever the physical and emotional rupture of inquisition.