Poetry | January 13, 2026

Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window

Would it have been better to be illiterate?
She holds her letter in both hands, has turned
it to the light. Reflecting on her own thoughts,
on the words before her on the page, and being
so taken in by what she’s read (as if the words
were a poem as beautiful as a painting from
which she could not turn aside her eyes), she
would not have noticed her reflected image
glaring at her in the window’s leaded glass.

Behind her is a yellow-green wall and a half-
pulled curtain. In an earlier version, Vermeer
had inserted a huge cupid behind her head.
Why the wall has been wiped clean here is not
clear, but it forces us to concentrate on the girl
—as she concentrates on her letter. She must
be about finished with the letter and has been,
apparently, somewhat stunned by what she’s
read. Her mouth is opened in a catch of breath.

The light from the opened window spotlights
her face, the bodice of her dress, the drawn
curtain behind her. The eye goes everywhere
at once. We want to know as much as this girl
does—and are as much confused by what we
see as she must be by what she’s read. We try
to “read” her—but there is nothing we can
know for certain: this young girl is standing
in her room, alone, reading written words,

trying to understand, trying to understand.