NaPM April 05 2016

[ellajam]

I and the Village by Marc Chagall (1911)


Questions My Father Wouldn't Answer

She's set apart, she's floating upside down.
All else seems right, a thriving farming town
with goats to milk and fields of hay to scythe,
together animals and men are blithe:
a happy world, why does she tumble 'round?

Her feet sit high above her like a crown
but still a smile when turned becomes a frown,
why would she fret with such a peaceful life?
She's set apart, she's floating

underneath her house, its roof points at the ground.
Within the wedge split by her bright blue gown
her face is blank. Her empty arms are lithe
but though her husband's near he sees no wife.
Her head's so low when spring rains come she'll drown,
she's set apart, she's floating.