Sun strokes by Catrin Mari

A large tree in the middle of green woodland. Large white text reads: Sun Strokes. Smaller text reads: Discussing disabled characters in fairy tales and folklore.

(Rain, Auvers, by Vincent van Gogh).
 
​His tears teeter a threat
 to spill, unsteady as the wobble of wounds and joy
within the same throat. Petals
descend in sunshine-
 
 He swallows hard; gazes out to the expansive sky, tilting his head towards the sun.
 
Crows’ feet never get to develop their splatter towards
his temples. Wings muddle
frantic
 
as petrichor mixed with suffering
caws and caws at him: so big
it fills up the whole horizon.
 
Hushed rainfall brings slashes of brief
 relief
 cut into canvases: Calm before the sting. He watches the cadmium rippling
 of wheat stems. They're swaying like shifts between disappointment and elation: vulnerable as humans
 
 like him.
 
He shutters insomnia-stung eyes. Such yellows against his lids are home: They beam, contrasting with incomparably fresh blues and sweet
twittering birdsong.
 
He longs for sleep.
 
 Sunflower-bursts in indigo
night.

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About the author: 
I'm an autistic social researcher based in Cardiff with a passion for heritage and museums. I also live with chronic eczema. I use poetry to engage people with research, and I am inspired by connections between artists and their work as well as interpreting well-known histories and stories from fresh perspectives, or uncovering under-appreciated historic figures and the tales they can tell.