hestia

Soap-studded fingers dance

Parlaying leftovers into an infant canvas

White plates, ceramic tiles 

Fall in mosaic ranks

A happy sigh escapes-

She smiles 

Wraps her well worn hands in apron folds and

Gazes at the

Chairs flush with the corners of the table,

The table-top crystalline clear,

It’s previous resident dishes and silverware

Resting in cupboard apartments beside

The oven, relieved and retiring, pans and pots

Firmly pressed lie beneath 

The dying stove

At last, she too

Sinks to the grounds 

Warming her hands by the hearth-

Flames brought to life by the 

Light in her eyes and the

Love in her heart