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.”