Orchards in Blossom, by Vincent Van Gogh, 1889
Childhood
by Michael Escoubas
The genius of Van Gogh, returns me
to my teen years, and memories
of apricot and apple trees, and grass
high and fragrant, and pears fallen
from the branch swarmed over by
sweat bees enjoying their version
of heaven, and me, tramping in the field,
squishing overripe pears, and herding
in the goats to keep the grass down.
Come August, blackberries and grapes
will ripen on the vine … luscious
juice will ooze down my chin, painting
my teeth purple. Standing still, I wonder:
will there be fields to tramp in heaven?
