Super Chunk

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poem: April 19

April 19th, 2007 · No Comments

Today’s poem (the last one was eleven days ago) is from Sylvia Plath’s Collected Poems, which is available on Amazon.

Morning Song

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother

Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow

Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath

Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:

A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral

In my Victorian nightgown.

Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. THe window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try

Your handful of notes;

The clear vowels rise like balloons.

– Sylvia Plath, 15 February 1961.

The beauty of this poem, for me, is the confusedness of new motherhood: the strange hours, the bizarre dreams, the sense of amazement that there is a PERSON here who is new and alive and completely, sweetly dependent. I did not get it when I studied Plath in college. I did not understand.

Happy birthday, Adam and Becky. You have changed my world forever, and I’m so glad.

Adam and Becky, about a year and a half old

Tags: daily · kid stuff · words · national poetry month

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