Theyve Come

 Today my mother and sisters
came to see me.


I had been alone a long time
with my poems, my pride .
 .
 .
 almost nothing.


My sister---the oldest---is grown up,
is blondish.
 An elemental dream
goes through her eyes: I told the youngest
"Life is sweet.
 Everything bad comes to an end.
"

My mother smiled as those who understand souls
tend to do;
She placed two hands on my shoulders.

She's staring at me .
 .
 .

and tears spring from my eyes.


We ate together in the warmest room
of the house.

Spring sky .
 .
 .
 to see it
all the windows were opened.


And while we talked together quietly
of so much that is old and forgotten,
My sister---the youngest---interrupts:
"The swallows are flying by us.
"

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