top of page
forsaken and forgotten
sit in suspension
in sun-dried stillness, as if on display
for an extra-terrestrial exhibition
on the End and it’s remains -
a theater of decay
in a choreography of erosion.
deserted in the valley of death,
farmstead objects form the solemn stage
of their own barren fate.
an archive of barnyard activity
shows cotton-mouth cracks in the soil as prophecy
parched earth as premonition of the famine to come
of the flood forgone
of the flowing and leaking and babbling
and dripping and goat-gulping replaced
by a bone-dry crackling
a wilted melody.
vegetal ghosts haunt the grounds,
resigned to their scorched states.
you catch something seeping but it’s only the sunlight
warm yellow waves washing over the room
small particles of ash and dust gently dancing
you submerge yourself in this golden flood
wishing you were drenched in blue -
if apocalypse was truly inevitable
surely the waters would have been preferable.
Text written by Naomi Collier Broms in respondse to the work of Eva van Wenum (2020)
bottom of page