by Suzanne Morris
Imagine, just
moments before.
No artist could more deftly
arrange these few articles
while conjuring
a still life in Ukraine.
See the embroidered lace curtain
swept aside to reveal
a kitchen table covered in
dainty muslin,
on which are placed
a small bowl of ripe tomatoes,
a lidded porcelain teapot with
poppies on the side; nearby
stout mugs, an empty tin can,
a cutting board with knives.
The view, tilting from above
and to the left,
the artist’s palette dabbed with
simple colors in homespun hues–
vermilion red, salmon pink,
maize yellow, white, gray blue.
Not seen, but understood:
the chairs drawn near,
a hand reaching for the teapot
to fill the mugs
and slice tomato wedges
for tea
in the midday light
streaming through the
kitchen window.
What family had sat
having tea?
Were the children
present?
Did all escape
the bomb,
exploding in near range:
still life impastoed with
shattered window glass
and dust?
But no, a new color,
burnt umber,
spatters the scene;
it soils the table cover and
collects in indentations of
lace flowers and leaves.
A novelist with eight published works, Suzanne Morris began writing poetry in the context of her fiction. Eventually she shifted her creative focus from novels to poetry only. Her poems appeared in No Season for Silence - Texas Poets and Pandemic (Kallisto Gaia Press, 2020) and have frequently appeared online in Texas Poetry Assignment.