Tuesday 17 April 2018

Tuesday Poem: "Morning Song" by Sylvia Plath


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.

I’m no more your mother 
Than the cloud that distils a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's 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 cat's. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes; 
The clear vowels rise like balloons.

by Sylvia Plath


For more information about the poet, Sylvia Plath, see:


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