An Ode to Virginia Woolf
She covered the wound with an orange band-aid.
Regrettably, no skin colored one’s available
It had been oozing for some time
At night she would awaken troubled
The lesion seeping pus and blood
Staunching it permanently was futile
One day she decided to sing her pain away
But that only enforced the insurmountable
Then she turned to futile drinking
Too little creativity evolved there
Religion helped to access visions
Which left her self-consciously depleted
Sex was a favorable distorted distraction
Sometimes
She wished for sustained healing
But none of the remedies abetted
The throbbing denied pacification
Until she decided to relay her story
And was humbled when people listened
She felt suddenly relieved
Lighter, brighter, durable, flexible
She checked her wound and noticed
It had become much smaller
Camille Elaine Thomas
January 10, 2023
#PoetLaureate #ElaineThomas #Virginia Woolf, #GlobalBlackCaucus #DemsAbroad #BlackHistoryMonth