We are the sheet music of Van Gogh’s memory- charred shrubbery, crashing our cymbals against the blue backdrop. Jagged and sharp, our notes wave to the yellow stars flashing above us.
Our melodies black and daunting—a single note planted amidst a starry night. Behind us, everyone sleeps to the swoosh of wind while our choir belts out another praise hymn in the foreground. Our black bodies reach skyward, singing Hallelujah to a god unseen.