Odd how "-ed" (innocucous of phrases!)
Can change so much.
It is Plath in the kitchen, mouthing
"I lived, once" into a dishtowel--
It is Echo in the forest, following,
Never pursued--
It is also the white-rimmed Atlantic,
Rounded, De-Edged.
It is the black-eyed guitarist shaking
His head, saying, "You cannot fathom how much
He cared for you,"
As if eternity had driven off a cliff,
Lips clamped, determined to drown,
And I stitched to the hem of her coat.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment