The Rose Robe

(La rose robe [1864] painted by  Jean Frédéric Bazille)

the rose robe glowed,

holding its own light,

as last sunlight shone

on white buildings

down there in the town.

she sat on a broad

stone ledge, taking

a break from house

and people too self-

involved to care about

a mild breeze 

that each evening 

met her and teased trees.

she rested her long, strong

brown arms, letting hands

lie on a night-black apron.

What she thought

was no one's concern

but hers. cool air

found her neck 

and shoulders. her tired

feet in gray house 

shoes napped on stone

like two cats.

she'd sewn the pink

robe's sleeves herself

before summer settled,

knowing how they'd 

sit above her elbows

on evenings just like

this one. like her,

women down in town

longed to linger outside

stuffy rooms,

to think, and to listen to

sparrows sing 

themselves to sleep 

as stray charcoal clouds

drifted across

a chalk-blue sky. 

hans ostrom 2022