A majestic blue eye
falls from the canvas
onto the hardwood floor,
rolling under the sofa
and coming to rest by
an old apple core.
Magenta and yellow drip
from the socket, forming
orange on the face.
By evening the image
repairs itself, growing
flowers in the space.
The colors pop but
their vision is indelibly
diminished.
That’s the way the day ends,
the painting on the easel,
finished.
Phil Rice is a native Tennessean who lives in Woodstock, Illinois. He spends time looking for stuff to put on Canopic Jar. Sometimes he puts his own writing up.
