For Sylvia Plath.*

The April gushes were all over my face
For a moment, to come back
Anytime they like;
Next month, or next blink

In my subtropical 1811
Seasons do not really matter
Though I have a calendar
Curled up in my insides

It has all the dates
Of the infamous April
Since decades ago
Your February 11

Is permanently a holy day ---
I am sorry I have never been
So religious before
But I believe in you

I believe in you like birds in their wings --
I keep my faith as wet
As the wet towels, until now still soaked
In tears for your dear head ---

O blonde thing!
When I first met you
I didn't understand
Why people built shrines and statues

Why people prayed to you
Why your name erased their fears
Why they cried when they heard your voice ---
O funny duchess!

When I first met you
I thought you had
Really hoped to be horizontal
I didn't know that you were, you are

The horizon ---
I went to the sea and all I could see was you
And I can't stop thinking that you are
The blood this heart is pumping --

O tiny mother!
My horizontal lady!
You died before I had time ---
How I wish I could kiss you

A Judas kiss!
O sweet Lazarus!
My lioness!
The gas has ran out

The ovens are turned off
You are no longer a kitchen girl
My minerals, motherly love!
You can lie back now ----