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Pear

John Ridland

Jun 01 2014

1 mins

Pear

This pear, battered by the soft pads
of gentle fingers—pickers, packers
lifting it out of the bin, and the supermarket
checker also careful—it looks so old,
painted a dozen coats of greens, yellows, reds,
and bruises here and there, its label with a tab
that peels off cleanly, without ripping the skin—

this pear sitting here, or standing, if you prefer,
on the bamboo chopping board, bears itself with the dignity
of one who can boast My great-great-great-grandpère
was painted by C
ézanne. He had decomposed
(before Cézanne got the composition right)
into a mushy brown lump, though Cézanne still
saw him fresh off the tree, unblemished, ripe,
a Still Life, its life stilled as nearly forever
as man and pear may achieve together.

John Ridland

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