I love Sylvia Plath, and I love molding things and carving, cutting them.(the bricolage class had no end with me yet..externally, internally..kello...my hands are perforated and mecanicienish but tiny)
Sylvia and I strangely share a lot of things and one of them is our birthday.I was reading once more today "A Birthday Present" and started laughing, so I decided to play and rearrange and hide from the poem like my state today.I grant it as a gift to all mothers:
I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want.
My god, what a laugh!
Can you not see I do not mind what it is.
Can you not give it to me?
You are terrified
The world will go up in a shriek, and your head with it,
But my god, the clouds are like cotton.
Probable motes that tick the years off my life.
Sweetly, I breathe in,
Pure and clean as the cry of a baby,
Sweetly ,big as the sky
Filling my veins with invisibles, with the million
Must you kill what you can?O adding machine-----
Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil
I do not think you credit me with this discretion.
No paper crackle.
But do not be afraid,
The universe slide from my side.
