!50!a found poem: Virginia Woolf’s The Waves
I am afraid—of frozen winter
of the crack in the earth, of hard people.
Pirouetting sunshine hisses
at the blind anguish while hot steam roars.
I am not silver or even snail-green now
only a soaked red—
like blown veins streaking white cheeks.
I lap cups of sweet milk but pass
on a crust of bread.
With my soft teeth
I am finished with dreams.