What is this itching within me
Fighting me, scratching?-
I want to break free of something
Mother Nature can only articulate -
Without blushing,
And I know it is not shame which binds me
To Purity but History,
And all those lost girls before me.
That keep my kisses neat
And clean,
That keep my belly warm
And aching,
That keep the boys
Anxiously waiting,
For appearence of the first bud
Opening.
Those boys' eyes;
Hungry with possibility,
Stung with a goodnight miss.
Left leaning outside my door,
Like a forgotten unfinished book, or
A half-eaten apple left browning.
(published 2001)
Sylvia Plath Quarterly, Oxford, England, 2001, 2002
