Still Life with Sunflowers

You stopped at the farmer’s market,
bought me blueberries and sunflowers.
I rinsed the fruit in a colander and stood
the bouquet in water. When I cut the elastic,
the stems, girdle-less now, spread out
against the glass-lipped vase, each bloom
lolling like a tourist on a cruise ship.

Upstairs, we ate the berries and uncovered
each other. In the kitchen, there was nothing
still about my still life—the  sprawl of calyx
and corolla, pistils waving, rings of stamens
straining toward the ceiling, so close to a sky
full of bees.

When the pollen fell, it dusted the room
with a stain that yellowed my counter. I never
could get that color out, though I’d easily kissed
all the blue from your fingers.

Cheryl Snell

If you've any comments on this poem, Cheryl Snell would be pleased to hear from you.