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Still Life
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Fruit in all its static beauty
sits dynamic, living, calm.
Painted, it performs its duty,
appetizing, spreading balm;
still as life cannot be, gleaming
waxy apple, speckled pear,
being in the realm of seeming-
even casting shadows there.
I, in all my three dimensions,
rarely make myself as real.
Barely, with my crude extensions,
can I force myself to feel.
Maybe if I sit here quiet,
forcing nothing, letting be,
Hunger might improve my diet
even while improving me.
Is this not the fast of mercy,
firm in favor of the weak,
hesitant to controversy,
slow to anger, slow to speak?
Standing in the breach of sorrow,
listening to the victims' grief,
letting all the needy borrow
shoulders for their souls' relief?
Thus I, though my soul were shallow,
still could serve in times of stress.
Then my silent state would hallow
all the depth that I possess,
realize my best intentions
till the suffering found in me,
peace surpassing two dimensions,
love expressed in more than three.

..................................
Jennifer Merri Parker
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Copyright © Jenifer Merri Parker
March 1996

...a poem in this room by Chris Losinger...
White Stained Glass
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