Often the smaller paintings hold them
as they stand in coarse muslin
and old shoes near a bowl of fruit.
They bear the look of those accustomed
to sun, to the purpose of the day,
and the eyes hold you
in a spell of constancy, a fullness ripe
as pears in the bowl, the dim lit room.
If you look away they will go back
to what they were doing.
First appeared in Antietam Review.