Colour splashed paint, clothes for each
in turn and buffeted by warm, walls that stem a yearn
to be plucked out, set apart but still belong
behind pacified aprons, a mother’s song.
Solitary in righteous row, dwarfed mirrors
carry presence sowed, and radiated in each rounded urn,
layers of humanity exposed in choral throng,
out from the closets of a mother’s song.