Poetry

THE TABLE

Pierre Bonnard, oil on canvas, 1925

 

All the pleasures of the table, spread out

on a white linen cloth:  one hard roll

nestled in a napkin, smear of butter

on a plate, grapes in a wicker pannier,

pyramid of lemons in a woven basket.

And Marthe, Bonnard’s wife, in the corner,

her faced turned in shadow.  Each object

is bathed in radiant light.  It’s momentary,

this snatched capture of food, wine, sunlight,

beloved partner, but doesn’t the transience

add to the pleasure?  Looming behind her,

the dark blue door of the future, where

all of this has vanished. . . . .

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