Female Author by Sylvia Plath


All day she plays at chess with the bones of the world:
Favored (while suddenly the rains begin
Beyond the window) she lies on cushions curled
And nibbles an occasional bonbon of sin.

Prim, pink-breasted, feminine, she nurses
Chocolate fancies in rose-papered rooms
Where polished higboys whisper creaking curses
And hothouse roses shed immortal blooms.

The garnets on her fingers twinkle quick
And blood reflects across the manuscript;
She muses on the odor, sweet and sick,
Of festering gardenias in a crypt,

And lost in subtle metaphor, retreats
From gray child faces crying in the streets.

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2 responses to “Female Author by Sylvia Plath”

  1. dardenitaaa says :

    Sylvia never fails at saying the darndest things, doesn’t she? Her brand of confessional poetry moves me, always. Good to know you like her too. :))

  2. Therese says :

    I love this 🙂

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