Still Life
It won't last,
of course. The sun
at just this angle
on the coral tulips. Even now
they’re spinning away, but oh,
these open mouths reach out
on their supple stems,
revealing yellow throats, golden
pistil and black anthers wheeling.
They ride the air, louche cups of emptiness,
satin feathers, parrot-colored curtains, they billow,
they plume, dreamy sails, slack bells, they lift
and tremble at the slightest shift, even my breath
sets them nodding. For a minute,
maybe two, they
dwell and crest,
then the planet's stream
takes them with it
and the shallow pond of light is gone–
except the tip of one petal
still catching the sun
ELLEN BASS’s poetry collections include Indigo, Like a Beggar, The Human Line, and Mules of Love. Read more.