Sunday Table

By AmyAnne Murray

When you face a window that emits light,

from a miracle sun

that the blinds cannot turn away

you can see silhouettes of humans,

sitting and

resting,

the lines around their hair and fingertips

shaped as strong as a tree.

I realized I couldn’t tell if this was

family or strangers.

Either way I stay,

because there is art in the way

their voices skip around

with all that light,

and they pick up their glasses to

sip water.