To Sylvia Plath


Sleepwalking she prepared breakfast
For her still dreaming children, before
Breaking fast, to satisfy her appetite

No fire needed, she all-consuming flame
Bravely cowered on the kitchen floor
And slaked an antique thirst on vapor

Laying her dream-tormented head to rest
She took premature or belated leave, set
Out to sea, having found no harbor here.


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To Sylvia Plath