A Room of Her Own
by Theodora Goss
Every woman must have a room
where she can be completely herself.
Where there are flowers on the table,
roses and lilies in a vase
inherited from her grandmother.
Where there are patches of sunlight and shadow
on the old wooden floor,
and birdsong comes in through the window,
morning and evening. Where the furniture
embraces her at the end of each day, after
she had been everything to everyone,
except to herself.
Where she is at home.
Every woman must have a place
where she can retreat and rest,
like a bird to its nest, or a bear
to its cave in the dark forest.
With lace curtains, and pillows
on the comfortable chair
so she can curl up and dream,
like a snail in its shell, snugly
tucked into herself.
With a shelf of the books
she read as a child,
their covers soft from the repeated touch
of small fingers,
and in the air, the lingering
scent of her mother’s perfume.
Every woman should have
such a room.
(The image is A Favorite Author by Poul Friis Nybo)
Amen to that, Theodora. Many mornings, before my husband awakes, I sip coffee from an old cup of my mother’s…and sit in her chair, where she sat many, many times—embroidering, knitting, teaching my daughter to knit—channeling her essence and creativity, as I, too, embroider or knit…
Beautiful truth in your poem.