Almost free
more or less
just imagine:
I am not allowed
to go out alone
or step into the kitchen
where maids and cooks
speak of indecent things
but in all other ways I am free
more or less
I tidy his chair, his desk, his books
I give him a haven
where he can study
I long to write
so I use my new coins
to buy quills and fine paper
for tracing his words
Secretly I practice
penmanship
syllables
symbols
letters that scatter
strange, wondrous meanings
across the wide world
I even copy the titles of paintings
until I am caught
then I pull out some sewing
and begin
to mend
At night when everyone else is asleep
I take a stub of candle
and copy the intricate verses of poets
whose long noble names are enclosed
in thick books
I write and rewrite and recite
every dream
along with a few
simple rhymes
of my own