Poetry
A Poem by Michael Varga
A sculptor shares his Thunder Bunny.
The Blueness of it hints of hidden graces.
Pedestrians pass it daily, hardly looking,
And to them, it seems ever the same fixture.
But as each pair of eyes peer onto its skin,
The bunny becomes someone’s reminder
Of a loved pet, of a favorite book, of a thing
Held tight to the chest, unwilling to let go.
The sculpture becomes the linking form
That ties each person to another.
That blue links to a sky blue and black,
To the Middle River where an old man finds a fish
That feeds the famished diner at the café
Around the corner on Wilton Drive.
We can connect the dots. This day ties
Us to another time before when wise
Ancestors designed a community
Dedicated to a free friending in the whirl
Of crafting lives of risings and fallings.
The sculpture may look the same daily
But each day is new and even that blue-
Ness is a little different to each passerby.
Nothing remains unchanged. The beats
Of our soundtracks retell each tale,
Each one unique, a story ending
In a beginning that looks alike
But differs in some deep soulful spark.
The Thunder Bunny is not silent.
It, like some blinking neon, shouts:
Are you paying attention?
Yes, we have a moment to ponder
What came before, what comes after,
But instead better to focus on this breath,
This whisper of a today too soon over.
Thunder Bunny is a sculpture by Hunt Slonem, on loan to Wilton Manors from New River Fine Art.
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