“A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” by Georges Seurat
punting the Seine
languid sun painting green island picnics
baguettes roughly burrowed with brie
dewy succulent grapes
pinot noir sipped from crockery cups
passing flashes
of what might have been
a gentleman’s life
never lived
cherry pie afternoons
top hat strolls on rive gauche
placid fin de siècle scenes
breathing only on canvases
hung in my lilac wood mind
too old by two centuries
too far removed
by an ocean twice crossed
ungently with bloodlines of peasants
