Elisabeth Macke, by Colin Pink
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 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.
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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