Word-Art Opening
- At March 14, 2009
- By carla
- In painting, poetry
8
On Ancient Wings – 16″ x 20″ x 1″ – acrylic/mixed media on wood panel
Tonight is the opening of the 4th semi-annual Word-Art show at the Gallery on the Green in Canton, CT. Once again, I had the honor of working with my dear friend, Karen Jasper, who wrote the poem “Wounded Bird” in response to my painting, “On Ancient Wings.” The show runs through April 12, with an evening of readings on Saturday, April 4 at 7:30.
Wounded Bird
Part 1
A swallow can fly miles, from treetop to ocean cliff,
The wind’s undertow buoyantly gliding her
To a resting place warm with possibility.
She is free, lifted higher by duty and family,
Not a thought outside of weather and wind,
Acceptance and choice safely within her span.
But then, jolted in flight,
her heart pumped deep
And she is transformed,
The unknown and unfamiliar
In that very moment,
A broken wing reclaiming
Something lost and ancient
Spiraling deep and desperate
Into the habitat of hidden.
Some species heal their wings
In solitude, licking and lying
In a nest of thin twigs
Healing from within
Until they can fly again,
To and from home.
But other species do not heal
And they tuck that wing
Underneath themselves,
Landlocked and less,
The natural order
Injured inside and out.
That species will push on
Practicing, praying, pretending
That wings are but a crutch;
Meanwhile hoping that reverse gravity
May rocket them up and open them wide,
Heedfully whole to fly again.
Part 2 (My Side)
I fly from necessity
Hovering over leafy trees and endless water,
Following an inestimable path from home
Only to return again,
Where I’ll find my roots and rhythm
Deeply tucked in grainy sand.
I do not question why I do this–
This destiny of family and fate–
What I cannot fathom I will not change.
My twelve feather tail and meager wing span
Weigh in below two ounces,
Not enough for my survival
And yet I maneuver and endure,
I doggedly sing my song
And tuck my broken wing
Under my expanding and rapid chest
Until I know if
I might fly again.
If I should die here
Unable to lift myself beyond this place
I will fly anyway
Straight to this indomitable future
Where I will be an African River Martin
tending and fending
Reaching still and always,
Weightless in my belief
That I was born for just this moment.
– Karen Jasper
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