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Cut

 for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone Except for a sort of hinge Of skin, A flap like a hat, Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim, The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle Carpet rolls Straight from the heart.
I step on it, Clutching my bottle Of pink fizz.
A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap A million soldiers run, Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they one? O my Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill The thin Papery feeling.
Saboteur, Kamikaze man ---- The stain on your Gauze Ku Klux Klan Babushka Darkens and tarnishes and when The balled Pulp of your heart Confronts its small Mill of silence How you jump ---- Trepanned veteran, Dirty girl, Thumb stump.

by Sylvia Plath
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