The digital 'art' is mine. I had hoped to find a Renoir to 'Picasso,' but I couldn't find one that leant itself to the treatment. Torture, more like it. Should be ashamed for considering the desecration. Hope you like the poem. Pea Hooluvzya

                       Lemon Drops

Early morning: an almost lemon lime selects
clusters of leaves that still look fresh
and sprinkles drops in careful stages
so the mixture will stay light.
The wall across from my blinded window
can’t hold all the yellowed and blued black
enriches the summer chef’s palette,
so he whips up his own impression.
Garnishes it with Renoir-by-Picasso stripes.
Seuratish dots may be blackened parsley.
Past time to leave.

Early afternoon: tilting the blind prevents grey
from spoiling, but it takes experimenting.
Too much darkens yolk and butter.
Too little, still light, but think of the waste.
Spread too far. Have to leave.
Got a lesson.

Toward evening: dusk creeps like mold.
Light has to flatten to slip through the slats.
Silhouettes the wall between gnawed-thin stripes.
Narrowing focuses on all that is left.
Hints that more lemons wait to be squeezed.
Shades will open on another gourmet feast.
Leaves plan to savor every drop.
Suck slow so the tingle lasts.

 

©) Phyllis Jean Green, September 5, 2005