i’ve read and reread this poem many times today. each time it hits you someplace else, somewhere where you don’t quite expect it to. anyhow, read it for yourself, at leisure. read it and let its humid tone set in.
|COMECLOSE AND SLEEPNOW|
|it is afterwardsand you talk on tiptoe
happy to be part
of the darkness
|lips becoming limpa prelude to tiredness.
Comeclose and Sleepnow
for in the morning wh
en a policeman
|disguised as the suncreeps into the room
and your mother disguised as birds
calls from the trees
|you will put on a dress of guiltand shoes with broken high ideals
and refusing coffee
r u n
|h o m e|
maybe the last few days of reading sylvia plath has made me into a feminist, or maybe i always was one, but this tugs a string to the point of breaking.
this makes me want to run all the way home
into your arms.