MORNING SONG 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. Im no more your mother Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the winds 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 cats. The window square Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try Your handful of notes; The clear vowels rise like balloons. Sylvia Plath
Posted on: Wed, 24 Sep 2014 20:13:13 +0000
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