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Letter To Sylvia Plath This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

Dear Sylvia Plath,
I stuck my head in between your pages
and found too much comfort there.
In The Tale of a Tub
the photographic chamber of My eye
stepped up onto its wet post
and absorbed your familiar words with buttery pupils.
In Conversation Among the Ruins
we drank poisoned tea
and spat out moonlight,
waiting for weakening pillars to collapse upon
our pallid bodies.
In Paralytic,
we floated in the questioning hummmmmmm of the washer,
uncertainty saturating every fiber
of a world we couldn’t grasp.
Life made treaties
that we didn't read all the terms too..
vandalizing your kitchen walls with graffiti
before your husband could come home
to coo the gas right out of your pours--
On February eleventh 1963
we drowned in Israel’s dead sea,
salt crystallizing between rigid fingers
that so many tried
but so few could touch.
I knocked over colossal milk cups
and crumbled the stale biscuit you
thought would keep me full till
new paint was laid over the vandilization…
that nobody had ever agreed to.
If we had met in Cambridge would we have become close..?
Sat on top of buildings under constellations,
staring at sweet taffy horizons
that would have made our eyes water?
Social infidelity,
emotional fragility,
would cloud those horizons
and topple those buildings…
Taurus would laugh
and Orion would cry
sending seas of saltwater into our minds
drowning the laughter.
I found too much comfort and parallels in your pages,
but not with You…
whom,
by no fault couldn’t reject your virus
like I will try to reject mine.
I’ll begin the drought
of my doubt
that will dry up all uncertainties
and absorb your words with dry pupils
while I carve my name into rebuilt ruins..
Tell me Sylvia,
why don’t I nurture the seeds I sow?
I made it up from the crack of the floor
just to fade from sleeping pictures,
to strangle serpentine fixtures
and warm the buzzard’s moans--
Wet toes
and a runny nose
ran faster than my pulse ever would.
So then,
I'll sow my sorrows
and let them die beneath my feet.
Won't let them grow,
and grow
and
grow.



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