​Holding a Mirror Up to Van Gogh’s Crows, by Sharon Tracey

Wheatfield with Crows by Vincent Van Gogh (Netherlands) 1890

​Holding a Mirror Up to Van Gogh’s Crows
 
A blue-black beaten sky,
gold-ochre wheat waving 
as he parted it
like the sea of some god
with nothing more than his hand,
a palette knife. 
Ready to reap what has been sown.
Why didn’t he finish
the path through it?
Maybe he saw
the end by then,
had grown his own black wings.
Maybe he could already feel the lightness
of laced bones, 
the hollowing hallowed.
Crows are known to hold funerals
for the dead. Like us.
 
For the dead, like us.
Crows are known to hold funerals,
the hollowing hallowed.
Of laced bones,
maybe he could already feel the lightness,
had grown his own black wings. 
The end by then?
Maybe he already knew
the path through it. 
Why didn’t he finish,
ready to reap what has been sown?
A palette knife,
with nothing more than his hand
like the sea of some god
as he parted it.
Gold-ochre wheat waving,
a blue-black beaten sky.

Sharon Tracey

Sharon Tracey is a writer and author of three poetry collections--Land Marks (Shanti Arts 2022), Chroma: Five Centuries of Women Artists (Shanti Arts), and What I Remember Most is Everything. Her poems have appeared in Crab Creek Review, Terrain.org, Radar Poetry, and elsewhere. Find some of her work online at sharontracey.com.