June 2010
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A Writer's Ruminations: Maenad by Sylvia Plath →
eseilannainthelionsden:
Once I was ordinary: Sat by my father’s bean tree Eating the fingers of wisdom. The birds made milk. When it thundered I hid under a flat stone.
The mother of mouths didn’t love me. The old man shrank to a doll. O I am too big to go backward: Birdmilk is feathers, The bean leaves are dumb as hands.
This month is fit for little. The dead ripen in the grapeleaves. A ...
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“My brother was eaten by wolves on the Connecticut turnpike.”
– 1408
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