
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