Dikt av Sylvia Plath, utvald av Kassandra Smith

Inlagt i Poesin
Childless Woman, Sylvia Plath. 

The womb

Rattles its pod, the moon

Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go.


My landscape is a hand with no lines,

The roads bunched to a knot,

The knot myself,


Myself the rose you acheive—

This body,

This ivory


Ungodly as a child’s shriek.

Spiderlike, I spin mirrors,

Loyal to my image,


Uttering nothing but blood—

’Taste it, dark red!

And my forest


My funeral,

And this hill and this

Gleaming with the mouths of corpses–
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Inlagt september 8, 2015 och handlar om:

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