looking at a postcard of Jan Vermeers painting 'the Milkmaid' 1660 and listening to the news.

She was a rich man's maid,

she moved through the comfort

of another’s safe home.

Her youth rounded

the corners of the cold morning,

the cream was thick in the belly of the jug.

She waits at our threshold,

and we still neglect

to listen

to her telling.