Pegging Down

Taking a risk here and posting a follow-up to my last post, in poetry form…

Pegging Down

After The Scream

with its enduring wail

where answers to every question sound the same

and make people step back, clap

hands over ears

(and you didn’t really mean to scream just whisper

this stings, this solitude, it stings)

comes the next series hung.

Van Gogh now

The White Orchard

with orchards in bloom

tree after tree

unfurling

as the snow slips away.

He, working in the sharp glint of sun

Between fierce intervals of wind.

The whole show

could be blown to the ground, he says

but he hunches, pegs down

to catch the way light

breaks off blossoms

greenly.

 

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