static: from the Latin sto, stare, to stand.
Once there were four green apples arranged
In a simple pyramid on a white china plate.
Once a painter rendered them on a cheap canvas
That was left hanging in the kitchen of the house
She bought soon after a truck plowed through
The windshield of the car her husband was driving.
In the remodeled kitchen that still let in a draft,
After toast and tea, she would stand before the frame.
From the shadow limning the apples’ bottom edges
She could almost hear a low hum, the static of objects
Pulled through time, the slight hiss of their resistance,
The one sound when everything is standing still.