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Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath

April 18

the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull
 
and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation
 
I would not remember you
 
or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these
 
and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops
 
a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight

#AmericanWriters

Other works by Sylvia Plath...
Terminal

Riding home from credulous blue do… the dreamer reins his waking appet… in panic at the crop of catacombs sprung up like plague of toadstool… refectories where he reveled have…
Heavy Woman

Irrefutable, beautifully smug As Venus, pedestalled on a half—s… Shawled in blond hair and the salt Scrim of a sea breeze, the women Settle in their belling dresses.
 1
Aquatic Nocturne

deep in liquid turquoise slivers of dilute light quiver in thin streaks of bright tinfoil
Alicante Lullaby

In Alicante they bowl the barrels Bumblingly over the nubs of the co… Past the yellow—paella eateries, Below the ramshackle back—alley ba… While the cocks and hens
Amnesiac

No use, no use, now, begging Reco… There is nothing to do with such a… Name, house, car keys, The little toy wife— Erased, sigh, sigh.
 1
Waking in Winter

I can taste the tin of the sky ——t… Winter dawn is the color of metal, The trees stiffen into place like… All night I have dreamed of destr… An assembly—line of cut throats, a…
In Midas’ Country

Meadows of gold dust. The silver Currents of the Connecticut fan And meander in bland pleatings und… River-verge farms where rye-heads… All’s polished to a dull luster
Lady Lazarus

I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it— A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
 4
Ariel

Stasis in darkness. Then the substanceless blue Pour of tor and distances. God’s lioness, How one we grow,
 1
Prologue to Spring

The winter landscape hangs in bala… Transfixed by glare of blue from g… The skaters freese within a stone… Air alters into glass and the whol… Grows brittle as a tilted china bo…
The Ghost’s Leavetaking

Enter the chilly no-man’s land of… Five o’clock in the morning, the n… Where the waking head rubbishes ou… Of sulfurous dreamscapes and obscu… Which seemed, when dreamed, to mea…
Child's Park Stones

In sunless air, under pines Green to the point of blackness, s… Founding father set these lobed, w… To loom in the leaf—filtered gloom Black as the charred knuckle—bones
Departure

The figs on the fig tree in the ya… Green, also, the grapes on the gre… Shading the brickred porch tiles. The money’s run out. How nature, sensing this, compound…
Tale of a Tub

The photographic chamber of the ey… records bare painted walls, while… lays the chromium nerves of plumbi… such poverty assaults the ego; cau… naked in the merely actual room,
 1
Private Ground

First frost, and I walk among the… Of the Greek beauties you brought Off Europe’s relic heap To sweeten your neck of the New Y… Soon each white lady will be board…



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