The artist returned to the Yellow House in Arles after painting all day in the fields. Nature stuck to him like a burr as he walked into his bedroom. Pale-blue sky seeped into his walls, and the outstretched wings of crows slipped into the window’s dark sash-bars. Sunflowers settled into the center-woven seats of the ocher chairs, blossoming over the worn path of earth-hued floorboards. A field of poppies managed to inhabit his red blanket, but not even nature could make the room contain the artist’s seismic swirls of moon and stars.
Copyright 2016 by Brian Dean Powers
Published in the Spring/Summer 2017 edition of Word Fountain