Four walls

I've written before about the space I inhabit
in college
my words scuttling all over the page
in a new rhythm, a rhythm all my own
I am a bull
I like knocking things about
to come to know them on my own
terms
and now I write again
write about a space of my own myown mysecret
strung slimly on a wire and Sarojini curtains
(red and orange) rippling in the wind
no technique, no planning
all haphazard, but Me
Mine
This space, this solitude is vulnerable as a kitten
And realized I was happy
and a clotheshorse behind my back blithely
braces the washing
Rueful, for I certainly know when to laugh at myself
I position my journal to catch the brightest of the weak, yellow light
to scribble
But happy