Caren Krutsinger Poet Prose Poetry

Van Gogh and His Starry Night

They finally brought me paints this week
What did they think I would do? Stab myself with a brush?
I could have acted grateful but I am beyond that.
I am irritated at the world right now.
So I pick up the paints and I begin to throw them onto the canvas.
I am frenzied.
No one dares to talk to me.
They stay away until lunch time.
Lunch looks ridiculous. I do not eat it.
Punishing them.
The dead trees are finished. 
Now for the trees.
I am in a silly circular mood.
The paints have added levity to this dour damp cell.
I begin swirling them with happy abandon.
One of my caretakers calls through the door.
My frown is back.
Damned mad now I add more dark dead trees.

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Joseph P. DiMino June 3, 2020 at 1:43 PM It may have happened just like that. Things often happen to me, or things that I do which make no sense...and then I wonder, perhaps there is a greater picture or plan I am just not privy too, that is worth even my own sacrifice. Who knows. As important as anything else, one needs to cultivate in one's self, profound faith. Another very moving and well written work, Caren. Brava!