42 St. Martha Anna Kamienska Scolded like an impolite child
stopped in mid gesture
with a wooden spoon in one hand
while a bowl falls
from the other
hidden in the dimness of the pantry
under a candelabra of spiderwebs
she is ashamed in the glow of the kitchen fire
she covers her dress with a blue apron
a small dark smudge over her breast
she shades her brow with a starched cloth
in the darkness the barrels are praying
patient with the maturing of malt
the oils’ truth settles in clay jugs
a tear trembles on a flaxen eyelash
greatly saddened shadows
brightened only by a glimpse of green gaze
humble and apologetic
but disobedient she still continues to serve
heart in a rush of love
even when her wise sister a poplar
calmly takes out of her hands a warm
loaf of bread covered with snow