Show me your elegant paintings
of women sprawled out on the
Floor, making gossip,
in the mid-noon ochre.
Dressed in robes drenched of oil
And sweat, and their tired sighs
Of life weighing them down,
And “homely” tasks.
Making their own music and
Humming to old songs
They recollect from the creaky old radio
And songs they sat and learned.
Their hair shabbily done to the
rhythm of chores, matted in
patterns inexplicable and complex
And held up high with loose hairpins.
with sunlight pouring in
and women animatedly
massaging and talking
To each other.
Beautiful women. Burdened.