On the kitchen counter, bananas rot while vased flowers droop, wail,
drop dry petals and leaves, writhing, wrought
with despair. These cut flowers grow obedient
to the motions of knowing old
truths, the truths of time.
The vase, less than half full, knew doom yet was proud, modern, minimal, spoke
to passers-by some floral yes, but its is-ness knew not right
nor wrong, nor ladies nor lords
nor much of sound.
Its is-ness, silent, reflected forms like bananas rotting, and orifices.
Responding to the poem of the same name by Wallace Stevens, "A Quiet, Normal Life" which was published posthumously in The Collected Poems (1954) and was included within a previously unpublished collection called The Rock.
“The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction and that you believe in it willingly.” - Wallace Stevens