‘LOVE LETTER’ -A POEM BY SYLVIA PLATH !

sylvia-plath

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“LOVE LETTER”

Not easy to state the change you
made.
If I’m alive now, then I was dead,
Though, like a stone, unbothered
by it,
Staying put according to habit.
You didn’t just tow me an inch,
no-
Nor leave me to set my small bald
eye
Skyward again, without hope, of
course,
Of apprehending blueness, or
stars.
That wasn’t it. I slept, say: a
snake
Masked among black rocks as a
black rock
In the white hiatus of winter-
Like my neighbors, taking no
pleasure
In the million perfectly-chisled
Cheeks alighting each moment to
melt
My cheeks of basalt. They turned
to tears,
Angels weeping over dull
natures,
But didn’t convince me. Those
tears froze.
Each dead head had a visor of
ice.
And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I was was sheer
air
And the locked drops rising in
dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round
about.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
I shone, mice-scaled, and
unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems
of plants.
I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at
once.
Tree and stone glittered, without
shadows.
My finger-length grew lucent as
glass.
I started to bud like a March
twig:
An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg.
From stone to cloud, so I
ascended.
Now I resemble a sort of god
Floating through the air in my
soul-shift
Pure as a pane of ice. It’s a gift.

Sylvia Plath.

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