Pears on the Windowsill from Letters to a Stranger
This morning I have been remembering
How my mother's hands knotted one September
And then grew very still.
A girl is coming up the hill
With apples in her white apron.
The light moves outside her body.
Outdoors, the leaves of the pear trees
Are the color of a house in need of paint.
They are like enormous flakes of darkness.
Sunlight is smeared over the flagstones.
A worm is measuring a tomato leaf
As if it were the map of Italy.
The sun strikes my perfect skin.
My inheritors move in me
Like darkening water.