a room of our own

this year i was going
to live alone
as all poets eventually should--
my room's 
on the second floor of
a house with a white nose
& a window that looks
out wistfully at
the parking lot--
i thought 
this is how we
all become writers--
like Emily who wrote
herself into a ghost & if
she could then
then so would i-- alone
in a room with mobiles of
words dangling from the
ceiling--
but then of course
i had thought of her so
she was there to stay--
she didn't knock nor
did i hear her come in--
i came home to find
Emily wearing 
her long white dress & rocking
back in my desk chair--
she was 
jotting down brief sonnets
in my green marble notebook--
she doesn't say much
she likes to eat finger sandwiches
& she said that she would 
do the wash every other
load--
i figured i could manage her
but then of course 
there's not just one
of us--
the next day
i made a cup of coffee & let
it set to cool & when i returned
Sylvia was there stirring it
with one of my tiny
silver spoons
Was this yours?
she asked innocently 
& took a seat in the corner
of the room on my bean bag chair--
i let her make the coffee now
she does it better &
sometimes when it's too
late to be writing
she'll stay up 
with me & tell me stories
of the city in the winter & i'll
fall asleep--
she'll pick me up like a little
girl & puts me into my bed--
& i admit i don't
know where they all sleep--
perhaps they become shadows or
they crouch in the closet--
they haven't stopped coming &
yesterday in the afternoon
Millay brought us a bag of
apples from the fruit carts on 
MacDougal Street--
we shared them all sliced up
& before we were finished
there came more & more &
Gwendolyn said that the world 
is at the window so
we all got up to look
& grab handfuls of headlights--
stuff the light into our
pockets & laugh at
the rush of it all--
this continued for weeks & even
Shakespeare's sister put
hung a row of Christmas lights
about my bed--
i told them yes-- yes i
need to be alone but don't
leave just yet--
tell me another story--
another sonnet on the back of
a napkin--
sleep here tonight & 
in the morning i'll make
the coffee & we'll
write something astounding 
about this room--