A Present To Herself
(after Room in Brooklyn, Edward Hopper, 1932)


A pale blue cloth
on which to set the porcelain vase -
she smooths out creases,
smiles as she admires her choice.

Selecting each stem with care,
she arranges the greenery
to accentuate the blooms,
stoops to breathe in their fragrance.

Later, half lowering the blinds,
she’ll position her chair at the open window
to catch the last warmth of a sinking sun

until, when darkness falls,
her book unopened on her lap,
she’ll light the lamp,
gently stroke a petal,

its texture a whisper
of what once could have been.

Gill Garrett

If you have any thoughts on this poem,
Gill Garrett would be pleased to hear them.