American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Confessional · Excerpt · Modernism · Passage · Poetry

Sylvia Plath

And I slept on like a bent finger.
The first thing I saw was sheer air
And the locked drops rising in a dew
Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay
Dense and expressionless round about.
I didn’t know what to make of it.
I shone, mica-scaled, and unfolded
To pour myself out like a fluid
Among bird feet and the stems of plants.
I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at once.

— Sylvia Plath, from “Love Letter,” Crossing the Water. (Harper Perennial; Reprint, 1994 edition, May 9, 1980) Originally published 1971.

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