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La Chambre à Arles;
by Sharmagne Laland-St. John

Tidy little room
Paintings hung askew
Sturdy wooden bed
A place to lay your one-earred head
No rug upon the wooden floor
Just the bare wood, nothing more
Green shuttered windows stand ajar
Gives a glimpse of summer star
A sense of space and air
The chair not plush;
Just a seat of woven rush.
Ewer on the washstand
Fills the frame

Vials of pills could not cure nor tame
Your many ills, that had no name.

 

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