I have visited countless
art galleries in this country
and a few in Europe as well and I
always stop and stare at the masters’
still life paintings, how the light
plays off a piece of fruit, how
the glazed porcelain on a ewer
seems to make the reflected light
invite you to dance with it.
I wanted to sip tea from a china cup,
ensuring that I cleaned the crumbs
of the unseen pastry from
the white, lace-trimmed cloth.
I wonder if visitors will be
as enthralled as I have been
centuries from now coming
across still life oils by
whoever are our master painters
and what they will think of the food
processor and the cappuccino maker,
or whether their eye will simply be
drawn to the artfully arranged
K-cups perched on the marble counter.