Woman's City

Woman's City
(a poem by Dorothy Meister)

This windowsill, this curtain blowing,
This steady grief,
This way a woman has of knowing
Her beliefs, are foothills
Craving slurs of snow and rain.

Night descending on a woman's city
Is harsh again,
Fine white dust of moonless pity,
This grain of tears lending
Strange grace to wonder, more sane.
More rare, more sweet flowers growing,
Tremulous fear,
The way a woman has of knowing
The year she must fulfill
In a window curtains blowing.

(A poem written by my grandmother, Dorothy May Beaver Meister: May 1913-Nov 2000)