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Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Woolf, Christmas 1945

“Mad Daughter and Big-Bang”

Walking in the vegetable patch
late at night, I was startled to find
the severed head of my
mad daughter lying on the ground.

Her eyes were upturned, gazing at me, ecstatic-like…

(From a distance it had appeared to be a stone, haloed with light,
as if cast there by the Big-Bang.)

What on earth are you doing, I said,
you look ridiculous.

Some boys buried me here,
she said sullenly.

Her dark hair, comet-like, trailed behind…

Squatting, I pulled the
turnip up by the root.


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