Sylvia Plath on death and desire

I’m sunk in Sylvia Plath right now. It’s dangerous. Look:

 

mjc-sylvia plath ariel

These lines, here:

 

Something else

Hauls me through air—
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

White

Godiva, I unpeel—
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

 

make me come apart, utterly.

Read the full poem here, courtesy of the PoetryFoundation and Harper Collins.

mjc

 

About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance Tell Me (Harper Collins, 2015), the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) Consequences (of defensive adultery) (coming May 2 2017), and the rom-com (she's versatile) Cherry Pie Cure (releasing June 15, 2017), as well as the non-fiction collection of essays Rough Draft Confessions: not a guide to writing and selling erotica and romance but full of inside inside anyway (GENRES were made to be BROKEN, 2017). Closet poet. Currently torturing novels four, five, and six simultaneously. Which is not a good idea.

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