The exhibition argues that nests, actual and metaphorical, are at the centre of existence. Tom Pow’s poems, which are hung around the exhibition and feature in a chapbook Nest (Roncadora), circle the subject of nests, like a nest circling its eggs.
In the Museum of Absence, in display cases
the likes of which I sat before as a boy
learning the habits of moor birds and those
of the seashore, lie decaying mountains
of suitcases, calipers, shoes and human hair.
Of the silent panoramas that are not there
is a dun-coloured pyramid of crumbling nests,
each one a carelessly tossed stone on a cairn,
held in place by its neighbours. An unclimbable grief
in which splinters of eggshell shine like teeth.