Virginia Woolf & Me

I understand Virginia Wolfe’s attraction
to rocks.
I often hold sea worn,
oblong ones
in the palm of each hand.
They fit perfectly
and their smooth heaviness
calms me,
makes me feel more solidly
connected to the earth
and the miracles of geological time.

Sometimes, when my pockets bulge
with those I find on beach walks,
I wonder.
When she filled her pockets,
to sink down into that cold river,
if she ever, even for a moment
felt more firmly rooted,
more part of it all
as I do,
or only saw
their mechanical efficiency.