Mary MacRae
Braque's Sunflowers
The paint holds meaning till it overflows,
The sunflowers shake with light, it streams from them
Through mirrors, spills over the cloth, which grows
Points, petals, rhyming suns. now has become
Weightless, lifts itself and, yes, now unfurls
Over the frame. I’m caught, dizzy, breathed in,
I know that long-stemmed pipe, that jar, those curls
Of smoke, the shadow of Van Gogh’s tobacco tin.
Prisms in the glass’s bevelled edge reveal
Dissolving heat, petal-rays licking flames,
On the shaded side of the bulging jar I feel
The endlessness of space in pleated planes.
Braque’s framework becomes door; slip in, for this
Unfolding is art’s metamorphosis.
Page(s) 32-33
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