Elisabeth Macke She comes from the dark bearing gifts from behind a heavy curtain whose soft folds echo her smile. Red and russet apples balance on a white plate held before her: an offering to the God of still life. Broad hands give us confidence that nothing will slip from this delicate yet perfect arrangement. Her white shawl caresses her with light bright as herself. Her eyes and lips make three perfect almonds bracketed by the calligraphy of her eyebrows and chin. She looks down to her left confident in the fruition of all things. Moontide full she knows the touch of brush, the smell of paint, the crunch of apple, the repose of hidden seeds. Colin Pink Colin Pink has two collections of poetry: Acrobats of Sound and The Ventriloquist Dummy’s Lament. New poems are forthcoming in South Bank Poetry, Magma and Under the Radar magazines.
1 Comment
4/27/2020 06:08:56 am
This is a wonderful, affectionate, sensitive poem. I particularly liked the transition from the fourth to fifth verses, and the final verse is a triumph in its quiet strength, potency and passion. Thank you.
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