THE YELLOW BOWL Rachel Contreni Flynn 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, and the yellow bowl on the table 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.
(My thanks to Rachel Contreni Flynn, via the Poetry Foundation.)
The Gentle Nudge
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THURSDAY: Poetry Pick-Me-Up (Zoom, 12:00-1:00PM Central, at this link)
Nice perspective.
"sweet heft," indeed. bowing to the ARTS, the ARTS, the ARTS - such vital life fruit - the weave of they & we. thanking thee, dear Phyllis, ongoingly. & looking forward to studying a poem of yours (I Can't Be the One) in class later today with dear Rosemerry.