From the Archives: Camille Guillot

peaches

They paint peaches. Hazed
with impressionist light, their fuzz
a palpable halo. Or material peaches,
rude with juice. Serov, Monet, Flegel,
Galizia, Cezanne. The museum’s an orchard.
Some Flemish still-life painters
(do they know the world better
than God?) paint them like flesh suns.
But we don’t go to the museum.
We end up instead on a restaurant patio,
eating white peach sorbet
grainy and bright with tang.

 

 

From vol. 56, 2014. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s