painting by Seana Monaghan Gallagher
When Love Becomes Still-Life
Nothing is louder than a heart unforgiven,
Screaming in the afternoon
Among an oil colored room of flowers and drapes
While loneliness distills sunlight into a white paste.
Without wind to move petals or linens
Or of reaching hands across a wooden table
Toward a bowl of red apples without taste,
Even the serpent is through with me.
No footsteps arriving or heels departing
Just the meter noise of a reckless beat
When love becomes still-life
Long after Cezanne left the kitchen,
Nothing is louder than a heart unforgiven.
Even a condemned man has a priest
Saying prayers while walking together.
An electric chair would feel like life,
Forgiveness, and relief for soul but not heart.
A hum to drown out the noise of each beat
Is far better than this still-life grief
Shouting from this squalor canvass
Downsized and ripped apart
As the rich sun begins to depart.
So you confess to the night,
Curse the moon, picked fruit
And the world that does not think twice.
You cause havoc among the stars
Shatter ceramic bowls into jagged pieces.
Hear the awkward rolls of red apples
Thumping off the wooden table,
Falling from Paradise
When love becomes still-life.
Nothing is louder than a heart unforgiven
So you let go,
And allow Van Gogh into your kitchen.