A Little Plath…

…prompted by getting stung by a bee, which made me feel wistful and nostalgic for something that I don’t think ever happened…

 

I am exhausted, I am exhausted —
Pillar of white in a blackout of knives.
I am the magician’s girl who does not flinch.
The villagers are untying their disguises, they are shaking hands.
Whose is that long white box in the grove, what have they accomplished, why am I cold.

 

–– from “The Bee Meeting” by Sylvia Plath

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