When Virginia Woolf had had enough of being Virginia Woolf she
Put stones into her pocket (quare: pocket or pockets?
How many stones?) and went into the River Scouse
(Thirty-five miles long; considerably polluted now
But probably less so on March 28, 1941)
If you had to guess would you say she walked, dove
Or jumped headlong into the Scouse?
Or did she spin around, looking at the world
(Just then, just there) so she could describe it if it fortuned
That she survived? And tell me something
About those stones -- smooth river-rocks do you think
Picked up idly and then inspiring the thought
"These would do nicely if I wanted to drown"?
Whatever became of those stones? Do they sit
In a vitrine somewhere, next to the bezoars?
"Stones found in a dead writer's pocket; stones
Recovered from the belly of a toad."
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