Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Stalked

For Sylvia Plath's birthday. Born in a difficult part of the year.

Clear the Table
Everyone looks uneasy when you say you'd like to help.
They might murmur a little kind approval, but the truth is
They resent you for making them watch, and making them pretend
They're not watching. You stack it all up high,
And then a little too high. There you go.
A matched set shattered. Your mother's mouth
A gnarled line. It had been
In the family for years.

Photo: Mine. I think they'll be all mine from here.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

This one put me There :)
~ tinsmith

annwyn said...

Where are you

annwyn said...

Where are you

annwyn said...

Where are you

annwyn said...

Where are you

Sally Wilde said...

Hiding. Hurting. working. ;)

Slothrop said...

Yeah, it's hard, isn't it? Feel like I could live to 1,000 & still have no real knowledge of the meaning of what I do. Does meaning well count?

A month into my work term, Volunteer Andi (the badass boss) gave me a special, secret mission: keep the weekend warrior volunteers from maiming or killing the patients. Much harder than it sounds. Ran the gamut from side-eyeing them as they passed out medicines to grabbing their arms before they set the water-dipping cup down on the dung & blood-smeared floor.

My mother's matching pair of oversized gravy boats always terrified me. "They're antiques, not made any more!" So rare & fragile I think Arthur Rimbaud nailed them in a poem. How did they survive in an anarchic house of nine beastly kids? I believe in force fields.

Can't describe how much I love your insights.