If light pours like water
into the kitchen where I sway
with my tired children,
if the rug beneath us
is woven with tough flowers,

rests with the sweet heft
of fruit, the sun-warmed plums,
if my body curves over the babies,
and if I am singing,
then loneliness has lost its shape,
and this quiet is only quiet.
Image credit: "Still Life with Bowl and Plums," oil painting by Brunella Neri (originally color).
Lovely, both the poem and the painting.
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