Fruit and Bowl

Pottery, Poetry + Paintings + Some Photos

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Painting #1 and A Gown for Worms


A Gown For Worms

“We move but take no pleasure in the air
Before we return to some dull soil’s rill,
With never a dream of the one green hill
Once gazed at from Piazza Belvedere.”

“But a worm might still discover the gown
Whose feathers reflect the blue wish for flight
“And silence that other kind of light
“That lay ahead, when you were all alone….

When night would creak open like a big black box.
What else do you think we worms could do
If we happened upon a glove or a shoe?”
“We’d be cautious, and dress under the rocks.”

“Cover’s blown: the glove and the arm are gone.”
“They can be sewn: first the bracelet, then the bone.”

 – Pia Marrella Cisternino


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Painting #2 and Through the Lens of a Half-Eaten Pear


Through the lens of a half-eaten pear, what began as whole
muddled into mush and seeds spread out upon the floor,
one may think, am I rotting too? The chair falls—
a noise– but no one’s at the door.

The rascal wind of hope barreled through it once before,
It came up from the sea and smelled like nothing else.
The flowers, in the garden bed, cup the bugs and more,
And we are lingering in the hall, as if they might get us.

Remember the fresco of sky on the ceiling, shining through the dust?
Just as it mirrored the clarity one feels while glancing at the sky,
so we reflected the couple we thought we’d be
in the violet mist some dusk.

And one keeps returning to daydreams of silence,
But keeps on blundering over the stones:
The moon was on the rocks at Vada,
So we dove right in, in the cold.

  – Pia Marrella Cisternino

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Painting #3 and Invitation From a Worm


 Now that this road has become a dead end,
What else is there to be done?
The Bridge of Flowers caught us by surprise.
But that was a dead end too.

Don’t worry about having wasted the time,
we had a nice talk while we went.
And we are not too old to wait,
Though one can never be certain.

I am not a worm in love with process.
I always thought it was crucial to hold the work in my hand.
But now that these canvasses ache for more,
one must consider where to go next:

So come to this road that may not be a road,
Where there are no lights,
Where who knows what will come of this specimen,
Opening in the fruit-filled night.

– Pia Marrella Cisternino


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Painting #4 and Dream of the Museum-goer


“Would it be too late at the museum,
To lose oneself in the long-ago dream

That begins with a kitchen smelling of meat?
I imagine you asking: ‘What will you procure now?’
And passing into the bedroom without a sound,
You wait to be served upon the sheets.”

“Rose, I believe it is late but not too late,
The museum’s flowerless vases and dishes
Have led us to the kitchen filled with wishes—
But when we arrive, the door’s shut tight—”

“That’s alright: the window’s open and the moon is bright.
We’ll somehow worm our way into these bowls tonight.”

 – Pia Marrella Cisternino