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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=574560" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sylvia Plath writing in her journal, 23 Fitzroy Road, London, February 1963</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">7 a.m.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beyond the bedpost</div><div style="margin:10px 0">no mirage of glad husband</div><div style="margin:10px 0">moving tall towards me with his English offer</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of toast and marmalade,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a cup of tea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He’s with another.       </div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She has mongrel blood,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a Knightsbridge accent,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">can turn a man into</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a spinning top,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">an arsonist in the house of marriage.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">One day she’ll become</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a book that my husband</div><div style="margin:10px 0">has tired of reading.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I’ll go soon, far from</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Massachusetts, Devon, London,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the zoo where my selves are caged,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">venomous snake,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sacrificial lamb,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">sleepless monkey examining its fleas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Outside snowflakes fall,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">drafts of a poem torn to bits.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the night sky</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I see the Zoo-keeper.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">From his starlit belt</div><div style="margin:10px 0">important keys hang.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He moves towards me,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I towards him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We’ll embrace</div><div style="margin:10px 0">where it’s black.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Peter+Bakowski">Peter Bakowski</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=574560" data-title="Sylvia Plath writing in her journal, 23 Fitzroy Road, London, February 1963 de Peter Bakowski" data-description="7 a.m.

Beyond the bedpost

no mirage of glad husband

moving tall towards me with his English offer

of toast and marmalade,

a cup of tea.

He’s with another.       

 

She has mongrel blood,

a Knightsbridge accent,

can turn a man into

a s..."></div>
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