Sylvia

I think of her
and wonder if the words
were her savior or her demise.
Could they have opened wounds
not yet ready to be exposed?
Perhaps the demons danced
before she was ready to dance with them.

I think of her
and imagine the voices
which kept rhythms in her head.
I think of her insomniac nights
and of Ted and his struggles
to love her through her madness.

I think of Aurelia
and the long white hospital nights spent
looking into her daugher's eyes
glazed in electric shock.

I think of her words
and imagine thin taut threads
connecting them
sewing raw scars shut.

I think of her children
and secretly wonder
if they were the challenge
she could not face.

I think of her now
reading all that has been written of her
and I imagine tears of frustration
at still being so misunderstood.

Reviews

[Circe]

this is so incredible... you have really done justice to remember her.. this gave me goosebumps.. when I think of her I always hear her say I am vertical but I would rather be horizontal... and then my heart stops beating just as it does here. there is no way I could ever understand her... but the things she was able to do was a testament to her strength.. when reading about her son also taking his life.. there doesn't seem to be a point to escaping what we've been given, the beauty is in what we have lived and done. to me this is a really rare and exceptional write.

[~amanda~]

i think sylvia plath is reading this somewhere and smiling. though many misunderstood her, and judged her, you obviously have a profound respect for her. i love this poem. i love your words.

thank you for sharing!

[Syndra Lynn]

Plath! Oh. so well written. I loved this:

tears of frustration
at still being so misunderstood.