Reading today in Vincent Van Gogh’s letters to his brother that he couldn’t paint Jesus in the garden because it was too painful, so he planted the olive trees. My art response to that:

(Jesus’ olive tree friends did better than us)

you waited and prayed with olive trees

when everyone fell asleep

you heard soldier cries for war

and saw them looking for you instead;

the olive trees watched and remembered

all you cried out…

they still do, i’m sure.

but we can barely hear still,

and we fall asleep easily

we can’t wait or bare it like those trees-

we wack off ears and run away

we are weak, but you

are like an olive tree inside

a temple

inside

our

hearts

now.