Cooped And Kept By: Madelyn Miller

Francesca Woodman Photography

Her tedious shaded room is still.

Only patterns on the floor entertain

What a tedious life she has to sit and dwell.

So cooped and kept, kept and cooped. She swings.

What seductive window light, stinging her eyes

She once gazed out to the pasture at the willows

Now shies from their glittering limbs

As she wishes to swing amongst them

Willows are not like doors that lock and stand still

Willows will never be cooped, she thought.

Electric cords are stretched tight

The distance that their lamps must light is vast

She keeps a stock of extra bulbs.

Only once she ran out; a dark confinement.

The ringing of the cords had ceased.

Silence is quieter in the dark.

While lit with lamps the room is still shaded

So cooped and kept, kept and cooped. She swings.

The doorframe holds her swaying weight

Surly the frame is sturdier than willow vines

What a bore to know you wont fall, she thought.

She has counted the tiles endlessly

Her chair is stationary and heavy to lift

One day she obsessed about the octagon floor

She counted each of their sides.

So cooped and kept, kept and cooped. She swings.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

She didn’t count the corner pieces

In fact she shied from them

They were too close to the window