The Sieve

 The old man 

posts a picture of his wife, 

in a worn out mustard maxi, 

smiling, shaking a rusted colander.

She stands facing the kitchen window,

facing the backyard of their old village house, 

smiling, looking at the grape vine outside,

Smiling, sifting rice.

Sunlight illuminating the greasy skin,

of her wrinkled old face,

illuminating decades of faithful toil,

silent surrender,

bitter conflict, 

and an unfathomable depth

of patient forebearance,

all at once, 

like the surface of the sea,

when it glistens under a clear blue sky, 

on a bright sunny afternoon,

bearing a goddess like halo.

The old man smiles,

feeling immersed,

his own existence,

redeemed in an immortal moment. 

The old man posts a picture of his wife, 

he captions it, 'the sieve'.