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Spirit of the Dead Watching
“Men are apt to idolize or fear that which they cannot understand, especially if it be a woman.”
—Jean Toomer
Like so many stones, a handful
of jasper or black opal scattered
along the banks of the Papenoo,
Gauguin has fixed his eye upon
a native girl working among the women.
She twists and beats the wash dry
for her mother, readying the bundles
to be carried back to their village,
and Gauguin is in love again.
Long from those indifferent hours,
long from the doors of the Maison du jouir
and the affected gaze of his mistresses.
In this paradise, all of his desires
collapse into color, become baskets
of guava, plantain, and avocado.
Tonight, he will offer her chocolate
and hold a red silk scarf before the fire.
Beneath banyan, palm, and sweet gum,
he will try to divine the body’s secret,
unburden himself of the thought of history
and paint his language into their silences.
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Born and raised in Compton, California, Amaud Jamaul Johnson is the author of three poetry collections, Imperial Liquor (Pitt Poetry Series 2020), a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award; Darktown Follies (Tupelo Press 2013), winner of the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award; and Red Summer (Tupelo Press 2006), winner of the Dorset Prize.
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Paul Gauguin, Spirit of the Dead Watching, 1892, oil on burlap mounted on canvas, 116.05 x 134.62 x 13.34 cm (Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, NY).
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Author: Terence Winch