I am 3.5 steps behind you
You always said you had nine lives
Dear Sylvia, I wish you had stayed
For just one
Dear Sylvia, of all the ways to choose
You create poets who find no art in baking
Though I suppose our ovens
Are viewed a bit differently now
The brownies come out burnt
I write a poem about the time I
Thought about killing myself
but got distracted
reading Sylvia Plath