Sunday, 30 September 2007

Tulips


Photo: Tulip, my garden (not a native plant)


Words to walk with:
From Sylvia Plath's haunting poem written from a hospital room, Tulips
"Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe
Lightly, through their white swaddlings, like an awful baby.
Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.
They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,
Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their colour,
A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.
Nobody watched me before, now I am watched."

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