four pears in a bowl

four green
pears, ripe and pear
shaped
as pears often are,
settle in a crystal
bowl on a silver
plate,
on a sheet of white
linen, a tablecloth
new, and unstretched.
the light
shines down from above.
the paint feels
wet, undried, her hand
not far from the canvas,
perhaps,
standing back,
just slightly tilting,
her eyes, wondering
if it's finished.
if anything in life
can be walked away from
with the word done,
firmly spoken.