Sylvia

‘You do not know how a lonely heart
is trapped in a cageSylvia Plath
made of dreams
and bones.’
she said.

‘Yes, I do not know how to walk
in a too small shoe
but I feel the pain
of the foot.’

And it’s only a whisper
inside my head.

I weep knowing that Sylvia
is lying in a wooden box
with no windows
her flesh white as marble;
I’d never thought she’ll fall asleep,
breathless on the floor of her kitchen.

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