This is a Letter to Virginia Woolf

Kelli Pomroy

Our friends, how seldom visited, how little known—it is true; and yet, when I meet an unknown person, and try to break off, here at this table, what I call ‘my life,’ it is not one life that I look back upon; I am not one person; I am many people; I do not altogether know who I am—or how to distinguish my life from theirs. 
                                                                                                                                                    Virginia Woolf The Waves

P h i l o s o p h y 

Words of your art are the world,
perceptions of selves weave portraits
from sea. One life is not confined to
one body. Promised in the body
something more certain than itself.


F i r s t M e m o r y 

The one that paints red and purple flowers
on your mother’s dress?
The one where the base of your bowl of life
stands upon this one memory?
Lying swaddled in the nursery in St. Ives.
Her white dressing gown.
Reflection of turquoise in the mirror crinkled like the wool blanket she wrapped.
Obsessed with the lighthouse, the sea.
You said you were lying and hearing this splash
of the waves breaking, and you saw the light: barreling waves.
Moments of being embedded in moments of non-being.
Who was in your kaleidoscope of selves?
Did you reinvent your self?
Your mother’s?



About the Work

Kelli Pomroy

Kelli Pomroy is a recent graduate of Stetson University. She received her B.A. in English and will continue her education with a M.A. in English next spring. Outside of Stetson University’s literary magazine, Touchstone, this is her first publication. Currently, she lives in Daytona Beach, Florida where she continues to write poetry under the influence of large cups of coffee.

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