(*After her divorce, Wright took on the persona of gutsy Fay)
Fay's reading Virginia Woolf: how
a woman ought to have five hundred
pounds and a room of her own. Fay's got
the room all right—six flights up and over-
looking Video King, if you lean out
the bathroom window you see a slice
of sky and sometimes the handle
on the Dipper. But Fay's got acrophobia.
Open the window: her knees quake, belly
wheezes, blood leaks into her knuckles
and Fay collapses in a bang of bones.
Still Woolf holds something for Fay:
how many older women walk out with only
a sack on the back, rocks in the pocket—
where's the five hundred pounds now?
So Fay sticks stars on the bathroom ceiling,
half moon over the toilet, To The Light-
house next to the Zinfandel by the four-legged
tub; red Gloxinia in the window and snap-
shots of the offspring in each cracked
pane. When Fay gets a yen for the Dipper
she looks at those faces: one has the grin
Fay had in school the time she told them
Uncle Frank was F.D.R. in the White House,
for a whole week until they found out
Fay was the big kid in town, Fay was
a star on the ceiling, her own Big
Dipper. Fay was a Room of her Own.