The Meadow (Is A Mirage) (A Poem)

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Vincent van Gogh, Wheat Field with Cypresses (1889, oil on canvas)

A sea of periwinkles, fuchsias, and tangerines
is the meadow behind
Mr. Leslie’s house.
She bolts through
the meadow,
for he is calling her name.
My rabbit, I am here.

She bolts through
the meadow,
for her father is calling:
My Rabbit, come home.

She runs
her fingers over the petals as she goes
and lingers long enough to wonder
why one of the red roses is
——-dripping
——-wet.
Surely little Alice did not stroll by
——-paint the roses
——-red
and the king chop off her head?


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Vincent van Gogh, Wheat Field with Crows (1890, oil on canvas)

 

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