A Poem a Day (664): Lightning and the rock

 

I wrote this poem using a prompt from Napowrimo.net. 

 
March 31, 2021, prompt: we’d like to challenge you to spend a few minutes looking for a piece of art that interests you in the online galleries of New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. Perhaps a floral collar from the tomb of Tutankhamen? Or a Tibetan cavalryman’s suit of armor? Or a gold-and-porcelain flute? After you’ve selected your piece, study the photographs and the accompanying text. And then – write a poem!
www.napowrimo.net/2021/03/

 
Lightning and the rock 
(a sculpture by Nonggirrnga Marawili) 

Lightning and the rock,
razor edge. A trick on time,
itself eaten out in stages,
a flick of tongue, span of life.
Against the sea, we erode.
 
Spit-balls of energy served by sky,
a host of aspirations true glazed,
from which we built our skeleton house,
home to the self, scribbled bones,
a betrayal of kindness. These old panes
our defence against trespass.
 
Here it breathes, this dark glass,
our fractured souls, etched so worn,
the metal withstanding pain.
It is a search for the inside
from outside, the back to front,
tilted heart, aghast, so out of tune,
snug inside this blown bubble.
 
We are staggered by the load,
the lack of fuel, the dissociation.
This steel guard with its pieces
unaligned is our body, uneven scatters of
lines, rusted spine, a sudden sweep
of everything that is, stuffed
inside the whimsical.
 
Between these lightning strikes,
this cage or safety so double-edged,
we peek out, seek to steal out,
breathe the freedom of the blue.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 3, 2024

The sculpture can be seen here: 
https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search?q=CrdPackageIds%3A658