I’m always excited when I ‘discover’ a new contemporary poet. This is because I can get so fixated on the dead ones! Today’s poem, Yellow Bowl, is a sheer delight. It’s by Rachel Contreni Flynn, an American poet. Enjoy.
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.