author’s note:

“How slowly we flash up in clarity!”
                       —  Nelly Sachs
 

STOKING THE THUNDERBOLT

As the dark cloud
shadows my path

again, I am made small

and return to
the childhood wonder

of how a cloud builds up
as it searches the earth—
slowly filling
with life
until ready to burst

like an eggplant ripened
nearly to rotting—
every egg must eventually
surrender its shell.

I can’t help but wonder
as I did as a child
how those wispy clouds
not only survive
the tearing wind
but build stronger, fighting.

As they grow, they begin
to hear the thunder god
rumbling within—
the thunder god will use them.

When I sense such forces
I can’t help but wonder
as I did as a child
how my own life
will play out—

you never know—premonitions
don’t even tell us half the truth—

the flash creation
actually happens
so very slow—
no matter how
you urge it on.

I can’t imagine: yet I know
such forces—when summoned—
very nearly kill us.

But such forces, unsummoned—
unexpected—kill us even worse.

So I bow here, working the hammer—
knowing that with each stroke
I stoke the thunderbolt, that I stoke
toward bursting.

© 2009, Michael R. Patton
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