after Willi Ronis

 

She is like Eve in exile,

awakening each morning

when the sun has risen,

then rising herself,

shackled to the day’s routine.

 

She opens a shutter,

and the light sweeps in

across the uneven stone floor –

her summons to the tasks

that lie before her.

 

But first a strip-wash,

the astringent purity

of her ablutions. Leaning over

a basin, the chill water

unseals her eyes.

 

Still only half awake,

she takes in the tarnished

mirror, a chair; and sees how little

is needed to live

on the far side of paradise.