Poem 12

Reading Sylvia Plath’s letters from her first year in England, a reminder of the myopia of being inside your own life, unable to see what’s coming over the hill …

( I never see an arum lily without thinking hot yellow microphone … )

Sylvia, About To Meet Ted

Her letters flutter over the ocean
      she's young she's surrounded
she's knocking the tops off men
like soft boiled eggs
the wrapping's coming off her life
she's found her work
and she loves it
and she's writing she's in love
with Richard whose soul has spoken to hers
        like nobody ever before
she's writing
      this is her life unrolling
like a white lily
its hot yellow microphone poised
she's so completely
                                   sure now
her life is as full as a bath