An Important Question
by Theodora Goss

When she decides to drop her eyes
instead of looking back at him,
a refusal rather than a return of attention,
is she perhaps missing
the chance to change her life,
to find whatever outside herself
will correspond to her inner dialog?
That other who will answer her in the lane
at evening, beneath the linden trees,
surrounded by their scent? Is he the one
who will make the world real to her?
And if, now, this moment she does not respond,
will her self become a closed door?

Or will she be given another chance tomorrow,
and tomorrow and tomorrow? Are there
infinite chances, is the self a room
with a hundred windows, each of which looks out
into a different garden?
And will he, himself, in his specificity
be waiting for her tomorrow, just in case
she wants to hold his eyes
for an irresponsible minute?

(The image is Dora Morris by Vanessa Bell.)