In the Eye of the Beholder
after The Lustre Bowl with Green Peas by W. Nicholson
It's a black and white copy, a still-life. Nothing moves
in the room, but something flickers inside me
lit by the flame that glows on the rim of this vessel
its cup filled with shadowy smoke rising now
to drift back into the dark wall.
On the white cloth, near the bowl's foot,
a scattering of closed pods. Clusters of peas sleep
safe in their emerald rooms. But one shell
is unzipped at the seam and four peas wait
for my hand to drop them into the bowl,
making the sound that green bodies
make when falling where they want.
Jill Eulalie Dawson