excerpt from 'the babysitters' by sylvia plath

The bold gulls dove as if they owned it all.

We picked up sticks of driftwood and beat them off,

Then stepped down the steep beach shelf and into the water.

We kicked and talked. The thick salt kept us up.

I see us floating there yet, inseparable—two cork dolls.

What keyhole have we slipped through, what door has shut?

The shadows of the grasses inched round like hands of a clock,

And from our opposite continents we wave and call.

Everything has happened.

you don't here

in these fields
you don't hear
traffic or the
lights just that
tingle
of wind
to be felt after
its gone

swindled our swan songs like elbow room on a flight

i know you didn't care if i made it home that night

swept all my emptiness that just became un-kept

hiding under my pillow, leaving while you slept

hey. i didn't forget this.

stinkybutt

i want to be held by you
by your voice your hands your face lips mouth ears you hear
when i talk not like someone
waiting to speak

i enjoy you
your words,
your taste.
i miss you and it stings.

not writing

i promised you a poem

expecting to pull that slime out of me

like puking on pages

but i can't find the words

mushrooms

i remember wanting to do

psychedelic mushrooms with you

i thought it would make us.

sanguine

another heart I turned blue.

(found it useless to seek) a new me in you

haven't written in ages

here staring at pages

they look back blankly inside their cages

i am chewing the traces

of yesterday's poem, last year's regret,

and formulated phrases, like "now's not the time,"

"your eyes don't match mine,"

content with dispair, and perfectly fine

swallowing it all with wine.

ooo

in the morning i felt your fingertips after you left

they told me i could love you

but maybe some other morning

when we had the time.

nothing yet

by now

you patented the smile on my lips,

and maybe even my hips.

A closet full of make-up,

learning colors

downstairs, Grandpa in the darkroom. (while the fan swayed its arms,

your orchid watched.)

Counting backwards, she makes room for us all--

unveils the evening: a scrabble board.

we learn colors

upstairs,

her chest full of scarves.

Careful careful hands held us

enveloped into a charmed dance

of the softest quiet beauty within my Grandmother's hands.