Still Life of a Crown, a Bowl of Apples, and a Red Sash
I desire deference says Crown.
as great and terrible
as it seems.
Lording in the upper left,
the paint to dry.
Bring me my empire!
Show me my subjects!
But paint sets its own pace
Crown can only mutter.
Bowl of Apples, looking sleepy and ripe,
Let me think about it.
Let me make the decision,
says Bowl of Applies in its sweetening.
Yes, Bowl, rest.
All days are ahead
coos Crown, gathering
all the gold from Apple’s delicious.
Red Sash, growing redder with wrath,
shouts No! Bowl don’t just sit there!
Your gold is going!
But Bowl snoozes and snoozes.
I am becoming more myself.
Sash untie that knot
loosen up. Maroon now,
Sash yells Let’s murder everyone
and just be done. Red Sash!
That splash of color questioning
composition. Crown studies Sash,
wishing for a brush.
Sash wonders how the paint will dry, in regicide or rot?
Nick Snow is an MFA candidate at UMass Boston. Between homework and work-work, he strives to find time for his own work.