Yellow Bowl

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.

— Rachel Contreni Flynn

2 Comments on “Yellow Bowl”

  1. BooRad0859

    what a lovely, lovely poem…i really love the duality of the joy and the ache…

    Reply
  2. Judith Scott

    Quite possibly the loveliest poem created by this renowned poet. Rachel makes the words sing on the page. What a gift and a talent.

    Reply

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