Poem 17: In Case of Fire

Please save Virginia. You know-
Virginia Woolf. She’s been with me
since 1984, rising out of doom,
given new life by some sculptor’s
knowing hands. The shape of her hair,
the contours of her face, just right
in some kind of mottled metal.
I don’t know if she would burn,
but I wouldn’t want to take the chance,
after all she’s been through, drowning
herself, being used as fodder by Edward
Albee and countless others. No, I am not
the least bit afraid of her or whether she
might do it again, might fling herself
into the fire if she got half the chance.
Not on my watch, dear. I love your writing
too much to lose you now. So come on,
get in the car. We are still in the race.
Wherever I roam, you will always be there,
giving my rooms some style, some grace.

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