Poems

The Still Life of Apples

Resting
as if the whole world had stopped,
a moment’s mute eternity.

Upon a scarlet skin
the window’s radiance
in a miniature convex glow.

Epicenter of space.
The locus of chairs and doors.
A table’s distortion
falls toward the fruit.

Two still apples
quivering and vital
in shifting light.

Moeen Faruqi