Room

I climb the stairs every morning

to this room

and we both turn our backs

on a windowless house;

I have found my peace here.

The paper on which I write

lines the walls, hiding decay,

and ink flows from my pen,

vibrant shades

swirling around my grey world.

On this spring day in winter

the sun has escaped

and is dancing on my window;

when I applaud, he takes a bow.

He knows I come here

to enjoy the daylight.

I have taken root in all four walls

and I am beginning to flourish now.

© Christine Magee