stones in her pockets
Did Virginia Woolf
Caress each stone
Before she put them
Into her pockets
Building towards
Killing herself?
How long had she
Watched the river
Outside her window?
Did each rock’s weight
Haunting
Heaviness
Represent emotions?
Graveyard on
Outside another
Bedroom window
Twisted branches
Knotting her hands
Writing no longer
Made her feel
Less mad
Colors
of stones same
as her childhood joy
Skipping across
Lady of the Lake
Laughter! Trauma
Rocks across
water they need
To be flat
Light
Hopscotch rocks
Round and heavy
Just like the one she
Stole from her sister
She stole her sister’s
Boyfriend too
Along with a couple
of best friends
A daughter who
Carried heavy gray
Rocks sinking her to
Murky bottom
Color gray of her mother’s
Gravestone
Whispering wounds winds
Never heal
Sacred wings no longer fly
Through black fog metaphors
Did she collect stones for years?
A game with herself
Lining them across
The Ledge
Light catching inner colors
Streaming shadow ghost
Beckoning her to play
River nymph muses
Kissing her into oblivion
I pick up a rock and place it
In my pocket
Wondering
Wandering
If she would have chosen it
Burying it next to my
Pelvic bone
Floating away
From her words
A stream of contestant
Consciousness
How many stones in Virginia Woolf’s
Pocket did it take for her to drown?
a keepsake
The world came crashing down
She caught it with a flick of her wrist
Locked it in a hanging heart-shaped pendant
Bouncing off the bones of her breath
monet painted water lily moons
She drags the moon down
She hopes it wasn’t against her will
Plays hopscotch with pearl moonstone
Attaches a barbed wire kite string
Drops her into chalk sidewalk art
Rain smears impressionist paintings
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