Woman writing a letter,
with her maid.
Johannes Vermeer.
The light from the
window
shines richly on
the contrasting,
chequered floor
and on two different
women.
One bends from the
light.
The other turns to it.
In the foreground,
with brooch and pearls,
head bent to her letter,
face partially obscured,
the privileged one
sits,
writes to her lover,
face strangely
impassive,
a blankness beyond the
moment.
Behind her,
unadorned,
standing, dressed
in plain grey,
arms folded in practised
resignation,
her servant
girl stares
out of the window
into the middle
distance,
mouth open in a
secret smile,
lips parted, lost in a
private moment
of recollected delight.
First published at The Ekphrastic Review
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