she has everything she needs,
an apartment with a broken window
on the third floor,
white lace curtains
that move when the wind blows.
one plastic plate, a spoon, a fork
and a bowl
she got from a box of oatmeal.
a jar of instant coffee
and an old chipped cup
she will never throw away.
a table in the middle of the room,
notebooks piled one upon the other.
there she sits listening to the music
playing inside her head
as she struggles writing it all down.
she has everything she needs,
loneliness, solitude,
and a single lightbulb she turns off after midnight.
(5-19-1979)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem