"We do not claim any space
we do not own any
the power is theirs
ours is the
decorating of the space
with care and romance"
a thousand years of
my mother's mother's obligation
has me tied
the greed for my space
buried in deep confusion
promising more each day
to everything
more than I can humanly fulfill
I weave the background
with bleeding fingers
and an injured soul
for them to run the show
and bask in the applause
Dear Virginia
you were so right
about that "room of one's own"
not the kitchen where
the memory of a burnt cake lingers
not the bedroom
where no matter how great
me would always be
a part of the huge"us"
not the living room
with the smells and echoes
of so many thoughts
This then is that room
this white space of mine
waiting for my words
the blinking cursor
beating like my
eager heart
to pour my soul out !