The Art of Splinters

by Jade Cuttle

Bach, St John Passion at Royal Albert Hall

The stage is a show of splinters, shadows split and splay at the violin’s bow,
stabbing in swords and swoops, the heart begins to bleed at its blow.

Simon Peter struck the High Priest’s servant with a sword, cutting off his right ear.

The ear crawls into its shell, sheltered from the spit and spray of the storm,
thundering in tenor and tone, the heart is tossed by these tides then torn.

Spat upon, scourged and streaked with blood, His back resembles heavenly skies.

The sunlight snags on a branch, sky is stripped to the spine and ripped in rage,
beating in blades and blasts, the heart bursts the banks of its cage.

From the thorns that pierce Him bloom sweet fruit and heavenly flowers.

The flower rips out its roots, spitting its seeds leaves flit and flail in fright,
flinging in fists and furls, the heart bursts into bloom at its bite.

He bowed his head and died,
…………………………………………pinned at the palm by the sharp kiss of splinters.