Mia Baer

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The Best Poem Of Mia Baer

The Story Of The Sunflowers

As I was looking into a poster of a painting by Van Gogh,
I thought of a story from a long time ago.
A girl was driving fast down a highway in her hometown
But she found her brakes to be broken!
Vroom, she veered off, slid to the side of the road headfirst speeding, her car plowed into the surrounding fields beside her.
But the fields were full of sunflowers!
She drove right into a field of yellow sunflowers!
Windows down, speeding head first, she drove right in.
Yellow petals were streaming fast past her
Green leaves were coming through her open windows
Yellow petaled sunflower faces smashed against the windshield
The stalky arms of the sunflowers
Caught her car and she came to a stop
in the gentle embrace of the sunflowers.

I wonder if it's possible to really know a Sunflower
at least like Van Gogh used to know.
As I look into the poster of his painting of sunflowers
I begin to wonder.
Why is it that sunflowers face the sun?
They tilt their flower faces and they follow the sun
as it moves across the sky.
These flowers actually move their necks
so that their faces catch the sunlight all day long.
This phenomenon is called heliotrope.
That makes me think of Scott Joplin who wrote a rag time song on the piano called Heliotrope Bouquet, and that's how I came to know that word and its meaning. It's a good song but my favorite rag time piano song is called Solace. I used to play that song on our old piano growing up. Often, rag time is played very fast with impressive stretches of the left hand. But rag time is really meant to be played slow and deliberately.

And so I look into the poster of a painting by Van Gogh
And I start to daydream
What if I could have my own art studio in the center
Of a field of wild sunflowers.
Surround sound yellow petals everywhere I turn!
As I look into the poster and start to dream
I wonder if maybe then I might know a sunflower
Like Van Gogh used to know.
I dream of my own studio out in an open field of sunflowers
All facing my direction with my back towards the sun.
And there I sit perched on the porch of the studio
Sunflowers filling my gaze, even in the periphery
And there I stay, dreaming up dreams and
Wishing to know a sunflower like Van Gogh used to know.

I looked out long into the field, and something caught my eye.
I spotted a sunflower who seemed to be looking back at me
I was captivated by this sight
And so I hopped off the porch, and went a little closer
Perhaps to greet it.
I walked right up to the tall sunflower,
I knelt before it and he stood above me.
We faced each other, and when I looked into his face
he looked right into my eyes.
He politely spoke to me, saying:
'What is it you would like to know? '
I stared back at him stunned into silence
Astounded by his words.
But then he spoke again, saying:
'What is it you would like to know? '
Speechless, I knelt while yellow shivers ran down my spine.
Lo and behold, a talking flower awaits my reply.
I quickly remembered that just moments ago
I had wished to know a sunflower like Van Gogh used to know.
I always wonder why sunflowers follow the sun across the sky.
So I asked him, and this was his reply:

'We the sunflowers are drawn to the sun
Just like those before us and just like all to come
The warmth of the sunrays
summons each seed to emerge from the soil,
irresistible as the song of the siren
the seeds are charmed like a snake
even the smallest sprouts reach their arms up
to catch the sunrays, to seek what they crave.'

'Such daily devotion, ' I thought. 'Such loyalty until death.'
As I listened to his story, I stared into his spiraling center of seeds.
He looked into my eyes. He said to me:
'The sun only shines for half a day.'
'This is true, ' I began to realize.
He continued,
'As the sun begins to wave his last goodbye
The sunflowers murmur in excitement
In anticipation of the night to come
They rub their leafy hands together
Because as soon as night time overtakes the sky
The sunflowers slink their stalks down to the ground
They press their faces into the soil, and then they dream.
Nighttime mingling with mother earth.'

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