'tis national poetry month and i will sometimes share some poems with you that i love very much. to start, here is one from rebecca wolff's figment:
Half the day is dead already-
a lady with a baby in the shady graveyard
promenade not quite the idea
but the first idea to be impressed
so firmly- Grace to be born
stones propped insensible
but all in relation
to the babe.
Babe what suckles
babe what grows comfortable with thieves in a fertile
bed of unsaid
grafted to the reef
Hold my hand
in the undergrowth
waist high at your leisure cheerful
child of melancholy and displeasure.
Soft in the lap you grow
hard at the breast- Oh
under- and aboveground we go
to relieve us. Camphor
and cambric by the hand not by halves
one turn more
will take us back to where we rest.
Baby is not baby when she
wears her oblong
I will take her home to rest.
buy figment from powells (you really should)
The Cradle Sylvia Plath Painted
1 day ago