Evening falls on the
farm on the Körös.
Lamp in her hands, my mother
entered bringing milk, strained it into jugs,
put out the light as we waited for father.
She drew me to her milk-scented lap and
out of the window we watched
the jogging carriages,
their hurricane lanterns swaying,
and the ligths of fleeting cars
on the pitched road nearby.
In the peaceful dark
the black cat leapt up,
we listened to her purrs,
when she stopped I stroked her,
and her coat flashed
like the stars above.
My little sister tossed as she slept
often I was sleeping too
when the carriage came with father.