Now I as a painter shall never stand for anything of importance.
~Vincent Van Gogh
A poem for artists, teachers, parents, mentors, inventors, gift-givers of every kind:
What Vincent Couldn't See
by Tabatha Yeatts
If I could journey back a hundred and thirty years
to visit Vincent, interrupt him as he sat
composing a letter to Theo or gazing at the sky
and seeing brush strokes there,
if I could speak the truth of the iris shirts
and sunflower posters, the ginger-haired actors
with starring roles, the admiration glimmering
like moonlight in a rainy street, the applause
that travels through the ages steady as a
steam engine driving past a field of grain,
could he believe in a love that never
touched him at all?
Vincent could witness many worlds
others did not see, but not that.
Can a person approach this world
with a faith in love unfelt, unknown?
Not faith that entire museums
will be devoted to their work,
but confidence in an unknown person
for whom your efforts will be a spark,
someone whose light will catch
by the gentle curve of your flame
leaning across time and space
Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme has the Poetry Friday round-up. Thanks, Matt!