Blue chair. We whisper. Blue chest. We whisper here. Dresser. Here's the green apple. a woman with braided chestnut hair enters carrying green apples. Here's a red one. the candle. Old jar. Your top hat. Your stained suit. Your frozen garden. It's like van Gogh's girl against a wheat field: the wheat is more important than the girl. Things don't grow and express themselves at the same time. The bottle with the peppermint I accept in its stillness, the rum too. My eyes may swell red and my fingers may grow thick. I will die as you have died. I will choose, at the last moment, to see death in everything -- in corn, in lowers, in birds, and bats. Your frozen garden is close to the skyline that we call the edge. We do not plan to eat things from it. It on the other hand eats at you and me -- and Vincent, too. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RESCUE by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER THE LAST REDOUBT by ALFRED AUSTIN WOMAN'S CONSTANCY by JOHN DONNE THE IRISH RAPPAREES; A PEASANT BALLAD OF 1691 by CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY SACRIFICE by RALPH WALDO EMERSON A THUNDERSTORM IN TOWN by THOMAS HARDY |