Damp dishes in the sink,
black mould on the curtains,
tan crumbs on the floor.
Dirty laundry in the closet,
empty bottles by the door.
I sit to do my work,
Women’s Work.
Red brolly on the bed,
white cobwebs in the corner,
dark dust on the window.
Grey ash in the fireplace,
dry vase of dead primrose.
I sit to do my work,
Women’s Work.
Letters to write,
words I must fill.
Pages of ink,
that is my skill.
I sit to do my work,
Women’s Work.
I write and erase,
creating something new.
To find a perfect phrase
is what I must do.
I sit to do my work,
Women’s Work.
I build things of beauty,
with each my brain swirls.
What a wonderful thing,
a changing world.
I sit to do my work,
Women’s Work.
