River Book

This poem was created from a favorite prompt from Two Sylvia’s Press, where you imagine a famous person, living or dead, comes to your door and gives you a gift.

Virginia Woolf arrived
late yesterday afternoon
to bring me
the complete collection
of novels and poems
that were created
by women too busy
to write them down.

Quite a quandary, she said,
randomly opening 
to a blank page.

Many of these women
weren’t allowed 
to hold a pen, others
weren’t allowed
to put down
a frying pan.

She stood on my porch
in the cold March wind
and she handed me
the book like a trust.

I tried to convince her
to come in for tea, but
I couldn’t stop her.

It was late
and every time
she will wander away
toward the river.

Photo by Florian Klauer on Unsplash