If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. 
You leave the same impression 
Of something beautiful, but annihilating. 
Both of you are great light borrowers. 
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected.

And your first gift is making stone out of everything. 
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here….

Ticking your fingers on the marble table
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous, 
And dying to say something unanswerable. 

The moon, too, abuses her subjects

-The Rival

Sylvia Plath

Day 23