Iris Lee

Death and Beauty

It was the day of my father’s funeral way out on Long Island, a long and dismal drive from New York City. After the graveside ceremony I felt the need to rest my eyes on something beautiful, but I feared the pain of the living beauty of a garden or park. Then I remembered a painting at the Metropolitan Museum—“The Forest in Winter” by the Barbizon artist Théodore Rousseau. Stark in its winter shades, alleviated by a pale sunset and two tiny, stooped peasants. It had always soothed me with its muted beauty. So we drove back to Manhattan, to the Met, and went straight to the painting. I stood before it for a while and once again was soothed.

forest in winter
a path covered in slick brown leaves
move with caution
lest you slip and find yourself
fallen into ponds and dreams

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About the Author

Iris Lee (the pen name of Iris Lee Stoler) is a Brooklyn native whose window overlooks the Brooklyn Bridge. She’s published a collection of poems, Urban Bird Life (NYQ Books), and has had work in Epiphany, Marsh Hawk Review, and Passager, among others. Iris spent her work life in public service and now spends it “in the service of words.”

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