The Keepers of The Evergreens

Painting by Vincent Van Gogh

the keepers of the evergreens


The keepers of the evergreens,
old women, frightful, hair in patches,
half undressed, in tattered slinkies
(pale blue, mauve, olive green and violet)
bound to softest, whitest, oldest flesh
with ties of braided nylon.

The sharpest of them, breasts crossed and pressed
by blue acrylic, arms akimbo, hands on hips
had spent the morning sweeping from beneath the trees
the fragments of the moon that overnight had lodged there.
Painstaking work when every shadow tries to hide a bit of her.

Who could blame the last that tried for giving up?
It had seen the others crucified, lashed and torn
from root-sides, hollows. All the grateful places
that the sun provides were brushed and scourged,
her strokes were sandstorms, locusts, desert frosts.
The last remains of cried-out moon drops
would spring to life again at first touch
of salt water. But dust must call for rain, first,
then roll the long way oceanward.

Rick Mobbs 2008