Four Poems in Conversation with Georgia O’Keeffe’s Image of a Jack-in-the-Pulpit
As it says on the tin.
Green ripples in flight, flickering
Tricking the center, plunging
Deeper in light and dark, shades that thrust
A hidden canvas of burgundy and white
Clear skies reject
A drawing in, a dark heart
The light, reborn
— — — — — — -
Stretching upwards, the light
Embracing the within, fallen
Light embraces darkness
Centered in on all that is and needs to be
On that one thing which brings life
Is it life?
Or is it death it brings, the sword coming down
Or is it both, because one cannot be had without the other?
It is both
It is that place where one must die so another can live
It is that forgotten place where all things go to be reborn
It is the mother’s story in its stark basics
It is, quite simply, birth