Emily Carr sells some paintings, buys a luxury item radio.
Static like ruckling, a grater pulled over a piece of satin.
Let’s say it’s a nutmeg grater, and we know nutmeg attracts
ghosts who ordinarily would do something else.
Vincent van Gogh wasn’t your typical ghost. What waved him on was
the sound of Emily’s painting, her soul coming from the brush,
greenery growing, roots shaking, earth quaking, branches craving
sky. My, my, he said, that gal really has a way with a brush. Who
needs nutmeg. He stops over.
They fiddle with the dials.
