Edinburg: Gauguin’s Vision of the Sermon
Draw closed the red curtain. With shut eyes who’s to say you’re not beatific. A flutter of little feathers round the squint. Monsieur saw our palm to palm faith felt his own lack gnaw so fed it oils gave us sumo in a red ring— pure vermilion he used— to quicken attention weak for its rapture. Within wrestlers waver in the clinch— archangel rooted, gripping opponent at the brink of topple, though outspread wings hinder the headlock. A tree tethers one arc of arena, its green sky tints our skin and bonnets curved like vertebrae for green’s opposition makes red fervent as ache does pleasure. The binary push-pull, the dogged struggle for upperhand. Susan Buis Susan Buis studied visual art in Saskatoon and creative writing in Long Beach, California. She lives in the hills outside Kamloops BC, where she walks every day. Her writing has appeared in literary journals including Prairie Fire, Event, The Fiddlehead, and The Malahat Review. She teaches English at Thompson Rivers University and is a member/researcher of TRU’s Walking Lab.
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June 2025
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