Last night, in photojournaling class, we were asked to imagine a photo and write about it. I accidentally wrote a poem:
Source: www.galeriacanvas.pl (public domain) |
My Last Words to Vincent
In a cornfield in the middle of a dream,
I recognize the countryside.
This must be Arles.
I’ve never been to France in real life,
but I know what I know.
Cue the murder of crows.
In the distance, a man reimagines the scene on canvas.
It's a matter of hours before he shoots himself
and takes three days to die.
He works as if possessed.
I want to run to him, tell him his work will endure,
but the crows won't let me near.
I shout, "It isn't too late!"
He turns his head; I take his photo.
It captures the long view of both of us:
Imaginary proof of all our useless dreams.
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You can view other modest adventures in photojounaling here and here. Or just follow me on Instagram at @bvarphotos, where sometimes I just write long captions. Life it too short; I always follow back.
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