Jared Beloff

Still Life with Flowers, Shells, a Shark’s Head, and Petrifications

after Antoine Berjon

Drawn to the rush of flowers, peonies ruffled, puffed out
bodies like startled baby birds, blinking in morning; the hyacinth
and daffodils drain color, tilt toward an opened drawer, discarded
as snapped roses; they swing their burdens, stems still pinned
against the pleats of yesterday’s newsprint.

My mother sat for two weeks as her own mother lay dying, a shell
hollowed out to echo her shallow breath, its pink flare gleaming,
tender as an ear. Their hands held, fingertips smoothing over
a knuckle’s folds, prayers through the dried cracks of their lips,
grief polished as a shark’s hooked tooth, their briny urge to remember,
to feel desiccation’s salted burn replacing what it would preserve.

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Jared Beloff is a teacher and poet who lives in Queens, NY with his wife and two daughters. You can find his work in Contrary Magazine, The Westchester Review, Gyroscope Review and elsewhere. You can find him online at www.jaredbeloff.com. Follow him on twitter @read_instead.