Van Gogh's Grave
on the headstone over your bones are the saddest words to be seen in this lonely French cemetery on this bleak mid-winter’s day. You died neglected at thirty-seven after years of abject poverty your life a living Hell ending in insanity, then suicide. I pray you are in Heaven for though your soul has departed your art lives on in our hearts inspiring mankind in perpetuity with its beauty and humanity. Many visitors pass this way during the bright daytime hours some simply paying their respects others leaving bouquets of flowers but this churchyard closes at dusk leaving your grave to the cold light of the moon and the starry, starry night. Ian Fletcher Born and raised in Cardiff, Wales, Ian has an MA in English from Oxford University. He lives in Taiwan with his wife, two daughters and cat. He teaches English in a high school. He has had poems and short stories published in The Ekphrastic Review, 1947 A Literary Journal, Dead Snakes, Schlock! Webzine, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Poems and Poetry, Friday Flash Fiction, and in various anthologies.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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February 2025
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