Chicano Poet

Thursday, March 27, 2008


These are the bones of Sylvia Plath.
They have been picked clean by something mean.

These piles of hair do not need brushing.
They are beautiful lying there without air.

Whatever happened to her smile?
Whatever happened to her frown and crown?

She sealed the children in their room.
She opened the oven without a glove on.


At 6:07 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

this is nice


Post a Comment

<< Home