They Have 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."