Skittishness saves birds, it could save you

by Christos Polydorou

Virgin Mary, you find me
You find me out
You find me in small green rooms reading novels

as if underwater.
You find me in dreams
wiping down Victorian tables
and drinking from empty cups

with handpainted birds on them.
You find me on tilting double
decker buses, the overground train
as it draws through Canary Wharf.

You find me on London Bridge,
as I make my way northbound
through a city in which Virginia Woolf
walked, quietly going mad, away from

the eyes of anyone or anything
that might have saved her.
Her face was so striking,
like a bird’s.

Her writing is suffused with the
rhythm of life, the mystery of the
unknown that brackets life,
with light from the other side.

This is your London, at least to me,
Virginia Woolf. I wrote this poem
on the side of the living. Such gestures
guide us. So many elephants in Ludgate Circus.

Virgin Mary,
my friend Gigi went to Malta.
She sent me this picture.
Virgin Mary,

You find me.