the focus on her hands
her eyes drawn to
the wrinkled skin
of the hands
resting
smoke curling
in the kitchen
has he left yet?
the moment when
through sepia toned
focus blurred
unfocused
the eyes down
pots clanking
a whistle in the distance
the edges of the scene
encroach upon
she is alone
who is she
waiting for
is she at all
maybe he
is there
in front of her
behind the lens
and the children
insistent
insistence
within
the image
it is only
within my
frame of
vision
do I see
anything
at all
to know
a closeness
the hands
remember
the hands
the fabric
draped
across
her
a shawl
I am my
hands gaze
drawn to each
other
a pose
there is a confusion
in forced
intimacy
Clamor 