The Sick Child-Edvard Munch
THE SICK CHILD-EDVARD MUNCH
Ghostly downpour upon not the sick,
but the sick at heart - a child’s mother.
Bittersweet tangle of red - patient’s hair,
dresser, caretaker’s hands. Bedside
manner, sorrowful to the point of death,
but the woman is not literally dying,
her daughter is. Steadfast bravery
warm blanket hue of hunter-green,
orange and blue. The girl’s mother
already draped in a dreary raven habit.
The sick room is passionate - lucky girl
is blessed. She is not alone until
her soul departs. Her mother will live
with a solitary soul-sucking pit, deep
inside of her residual days, memories
tucked away from all her friends, for
she will dread the fire of life - the source
that lit her lamp with strawberry hair,
freckled windsong, a swinging pendulum.
The sick child, already in the light;
despair has a screaming voice,
perceived in claustrophobic space.
One is lightened by breathlessness;
the other is lightened by a broken heart.
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