More Paintings
Worthy Artist
You can be older than a farm maiden’s granny
and still feel like a Van Gogh painting, clutching your
paper sack of winter rye from the Agway to your left hip
where his young sower would have a cloth sling
as you step out among scattered maple leaves winking
their American satire of his French countryside,
you feel your light as golden, your earth as dark, and
especially your right arm as strong, flinging out
in a motion no one had to teach you, the natural
broadcasting of seed. Who cares if you’re Jewish
and the rich dirt reminds you of pumpernickel
- with seeds - or that you felt hopeless this morning
to paint anything that will ever be good enough?
Because at the end of the field, you can take
whatever seed is left and throw it straight up
into the sky, raining the bounty of what you’ve
been given on your own head. This splattered blessing.