Mommy

Mommy by Sylvia Plath (in her voice and style) Mommy, your face was a frostbitten moon, A pale eclipse of warmth I never held. Your hands were glass, and never swooned To touch the fever in which I dwelled. You stitched me shut with lilac thread— Soft on the skin, but poison-fed. A nursery built from iron and ash, Rocking the cradle with a funeral lash. I drank your dreams from china cups, Each sip a silence that filled me up. You danced in pearls I could not wear, Your laughter stitched to the midnight air. I dug you up in every verse, Your voice a hymn, a snarling curse. Mommy, did you mean to drown me too? Even now, I wear your hurt like blue. I bloom in bruises shaped like you.