A shining pewter bowl overflows with ripe fruit.
A maid peels an apple, light pouring
thick as water through an open window.
A girl reads a book by candlelight, the lids of her eyes
heavy with dreams of exotic countries,
dense jungles and smoky mountains,
A dog lays waiting at the foot of a prince.
A pearl glowing with inner light dangles
below the delicate ear of a young woman.
Tell me van Eyck, de Hooch, Fabritius, Vermeer.
What happens after the light has dimmed,
when the fruit has gone to rot,
the apple has been eaten,
the book has been closed,
the candle blown out,
when the dog has been fed
and the young woman
is no longer young?
——
David Jibson lives and writes in Ann Arbor, MI, USA. His poetry has appeared in a number of journals and his book, Small Poems, was published in January of last year. He is retired from working in hospice.