Maidservant Pouring Milk
Light from a Northern window,
In elemental color. Behind her,
Deep nail holes in a white-washed wall.
On the darkly green tablecloth,
The bowl she’s pouring milk into,
A wicker basket of bread,
A piece of blue cloth.
Nun-like in her white headdress,
She’s caught forever pouring milk,
Holding the pitcher delicately with both hands,
An empty space between her arms,
Beneath her breasts.
Between the lip of the pitcher and bowl,
A stream of milk suspended in air,
She could nurse a baby in the cradle
Of her arms.
In the bodily nimbus of light
That surrounds her.