There were so many nights of loneliness, the word
prowl comes to mind, the needle and thread
were as bored as I.
My mind was elsewhere.
The front stoop, crying. I operated solo.
I was living in New York at the time.
My closet was full of demure clothing
for positions like secretary and teacher, the demeaning
wardrobe of the demeaned.
A woman on her knees
understands what it’s like when people look
and think they see you
We all have a part to play, the nuns liked to say,
in the Lord’s universe.
I knew that this was mine.
Categories: Poetry
