Jul/Aug 2015 Poetry |
Photography by Lydia Selk
Van Gogh: Last Weeks at Auvers
Who would know a storm is spinning
towards the coast, with the air
along the shore so calm?For weeks Vincent had been as serene
as a Koi pondbut he sensed a change coming.
First there was restlessness,
then a few bad dreams.Hallucinations
began to poison his sleep.Dr. Gachet visited, slumped
into a big chair across from Vincent,
his absurdly small beret
perched atop his red hair."Think of better times.
And paint that ocean of wheat
washing the hills," he advised.How could he? Vincent asked himself
Exhausted, he longed only
to slip away, to become
a glacier melting
into the sea's
lap.