Morning Song – Sylvia Plath

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 distils a mirror to reflect its own…

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The Buck – Susanna Rich

When I was ten, Grandmother told me to get her stuffed when she died like the buck head by the door catching webs of evil in his antlers.   She was to be seated in the living room on the sofa (or chair, our choice), facing the piano where I would play Brahms, Liszt and Chopin.   Her eyes were to be open (maybe a…

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