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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.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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