After Vermeer

1
No wonder she thinks there’s more
where everything came from

a girl as round as the jug
that never runs dry

her arms thick cream, her yellow bodice
filled with anticipation

the bread before her risen
in the same light in which she stands

2
She did not ask for this,
three centuries of tilting
a half-filled glazed brown jug
to show us the connection

the give-and-take, the earthen lip
feeding the earthen bowl

herself still bound to us
who watch the milk: it pours
and keeps on pouring,
although the paint is dry.