Still Life With Married Man

It wasn’t human, like they say about cello

No, she played more like a machete

Slicing a vine

Although humans do that, to guide a person

up a hill in Venezuela, person and donkey

And I saw a man open a coconut that way

Still I expected classics, not this feeling

Of a jaw not lining up

Not this woman with the warlord expression

Seated sternly, her white dress trailing

Like a bride’s

Some of the sequins scattering

I liked the arm rest, sure,

How the man next to me rested his hand

I had invited him

The cellist played something syrupy


The paper snowflakes on the auditorium windows

Almost fooled me

Not that I thought they were real snow


Sarah Green is a doctoral candidate in creative writing at Ohio University. Her poems have appeared in Gettysburg Review, FIELD, H_NGM_N, Cortland Review, Mid-American Review, Best New Poets 2012, the Pushcart Prize anthology, and elsewhere. She lives in Athens, Ohio.