Morning Song

Byadmin

5月 25, 2020

–Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles,

and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo,

magnifying your arrival.

New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety.

We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother

Than the cloud that distills a mirror

to reflect its own slow

Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath

Flickers among the flat pink roses.

I wake to listen:

A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed,

cow-heavy and floral

In my Victorian nightgown.

Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s.

The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars.

And now you try

Your handful of notes;

The clear vowels rise like balloons.

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