I didn’t know oil could crack.
But new fissures open
in sunflowers, gladiolas,
the black and grey of the background.
You smeared a soft white in the vase.
It shines under leafy shadows–
small, warm, and more trapped light
than reflection.
It shouldn’t outshine
the yellow and red of the petals above,
but it does.
And I believe it.
It’s the same way your eyes
are brighter than the white of your beard.
It’s warm the way
your cheeks
pink through new wrinkles.
It’s revealing itself
like we open,
fissure by fissure.
© 2018 Rebecca Kerr
Image: At the Easel, by James N. Lee (1873-1911)
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