Close

Gwen John's Chair

Kasey Jueds | Poetry

After her death, kept 
by her nephew, until finally 
woodworms consumed it— 

once-pliant body 
of the willow it was 

given back to animal need. 
In her painting, it’s empty, 
sturdied by a window, a tide 

of changeling light. 
Summer: whatever’s left  
of loneliness 
shepherded by distant trees.