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April 18

the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull
 
and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation
 
I would not remember you
 
or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these
 
and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops
 
a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight
Other works by Sylvia Plath ...



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