In the Grass After Two Girls on a Lawn by John Singer Sargent Two girls on a lawn so soft the one in black sleeps her head cradled in her bent arm The other in a ruffled white dress props herself up on her elbow rests her head on her hand As a girl I’d lie in the grass study the clouds Or swinging bend back over the seat turn the world upside down inhaling the sharp scent of freshly mown grass Years ago I told my brother as we drove through hills of tall grasses that I always dreamed of running barefoot through the grass toward someone and he replied on the verge of divorce cockleburs hurt Two girls on a lawn napping a study of white and green and black not of grass and its stickers how even through fabric it scratches
This post was inspired by
and her summertime poetry prompts at for this past week. The prompt was to write about lying on the grass. I confess I wrote this poem several years ago,1 but it seemed like the perfect poem for the prompt and I edited it a bit. I still remember that drive from the Bay Area to Bolinas for my cousin’s wedding when my oldest brother suggested that running through the grass had its downsides. When I saw this painting twenty-years later, I remembered that drive and our conversation and it all came together. Sometimes that’s how poetry works.I’ve had a few poems published lately, which I will share here in the coming weeks. One is a summer poem from my forthcoming book, Gathering the Pieces of Days, from
. I posted it as a note but here it is for subscribers. You can find it at Red Wolf Leaflets.One of the Substacks I read is
. This past week he included a wonderful quote from Eckhart Tolle, “I have lived with several Zen masters—all of them cats.” writes about mindfulness in a totally accessible way. this is one of my favorites.Thank you so much for reading. It means the world to me.
1
“In the Grass” was first published in Eclectica, Oct/Nov 2017, and later in The Ekphrastic Review, July 20, 2023.
I love ekphrastic poetry, this felt like those early days of spring to me, defrosting from the winter.
Wonderful, LeeAnn. I love how you managed to move your poem to match the mood of Sargent’s painting. Well done!