Aunt Bee Is Gone 


All the apples have turned sour, 

Aunt Bee is gone, and Mayberry 

was only a mirage. 


Where then do I turn for momentary 

solace when what appears real

 is a fictional version of something 


that never existed?  Out there 

is limited by 20/40 vision 

and misperceptions stacked 


tight and high like next winter’s 

cordwood.  With eyes shut now, 

I return to a garden landscape 


within, finding a pristine

blank canvas awaiting 

brush and paint.  Channeling 


Matisse, Monet, Pissarro, 

and Gaugin, I use small 

thin visible brushstrokes, 


to bring to life the freshest 

red ripe apples to display

next to the most appealing 


apple pie on the windowsill, 

an invitation to leave the world, 

o remain awhile longer, until 


the feeling of out there 

is no more.



©Paul Goldman August 2, 2022

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