Life With Horace

poetry & essays

Category Archives: light


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Non pareil

With thanks to M.F.K. Fisher

The kitchen basket is almost empty
a single red tomato moated with sunlight 
waits for my touch
 
Time is short, blooms of mold 
will soon claim it and I don’t want to lose
this object of my tongue’s lust

Perfectly ripe, its sleek skin 
hints at a tantalizing split 
ignored for now

and I dismiss the temptation to ravish
without finesse, preferring
the small pleasures of anticipation

So, slices fanned onto a blue moroccan plate
dressed in a squeeze of lemon, green olive oil
and basil slivers

become lunchtime’s non pareil
Each piece a grapeshot burst against my lips
already parted in pleasure

Originally published on 1/8/2021; reposted with small edits.


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When the fog rolled in

Every time I came back
it was to stand surrounded
by the square front hall
oak and lemon smelling

Metal shaded lamps
to draw the eye at night
Orange tiger lilies bracketing
moss glazed fire place tiles

The Parlor door open
direct afternoon light
chased by muffled gray
on humid summer days

The Green Painting waiting
open armed on the far wall
above a crack lacquered
roll top desk

It always took me further
into its own dream world
of fog, a stream dividing
the marsh edge to edge

The blackened green
of pine and cypress arms
rooted in celadon grass
no bump elbowed woods

The artist had watched
smiling when my grandmother
first saw the canvas and
took it wet from the easel

Thanks tossed back
she walked out the door
into the mist blocked morning
off home to hang it for me


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The Angle of Later Light

It’s my life up to now
with its camp follower memories
thirsty for acknowledgement
wanting to do their chorus line kicks
before time runs out
senses ambushed by everything

It does not take much does it                                    
a lemon hiding its sharp tongue
in a cheerful skin but once married
to sugar or butter is a
blanket of surprises

A remembered tomato eaten
seconds off the vine
warm in the hot sun
Socks pulled onto cold feet
the quick bliss of warmth
a soft second skin

The cut and scrape of a
hand turned can opener
to reveal humble tuna
The deep heart of color
in an emerald

Honey carrying its own
geography to the tongue
A window open to the
dense night of a city summer                                    
and a mockingbird sings
near the fountain steps
I imagine it a nightingale

Movies in childhood
red and gold palaces of escape
sitting in the dark
impatient for the approaching
light and color and sound
calling from the screen

The angle of later light
the heart’s golden hour
slowly pressed into
star filled night

________________________________________
Image copyright © 2023 Kate Rantilla, All Rights Reserved.


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Insistent messenger

A mourning dove in my apple tree
looks through the window
its message meant to prod
sun shrinks as the cold returns
woods maple tops spike leafless now
bronze oaks and candle beech stand guard
water lilies sink into the pond again
a scooped out moon brings frost
bears already denned up the hill
not quite past time for seeds but hurry
or jays will bring their beaks



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Sun 1

What brings you to your knees sun
on mornings when you flee the other world
and mask yourself with cloud
flattening the day’s light into scrim
I feel certain of your grief
and lie resigned to graying tears
running down a window cheek
the house dogs take dimness
as a time to sleep
so there is that