A Paper Waspís Nest
On seeing the photograph Natures Mortes of Barbara Crane
A treasure trove, a bag of black velvet
And watered brilliant silks in patterned swirls,
Held down by a clawed hand, negligently
Laid across the swelling surface.
Ruffles gather at the bagís neck
Securely closing off the opening.
A triangle of tendrils points
Down, stirring my curiosity.
What lies within this elegant purse?
Jewels, it must be, and heavy.
The weight rounds out the heartís plump sides,
A photo on the wall,
A paper thickness,
Black, white, flat.