Whenever I read the last stanza of this poem, I feel like I'm literally spinning and flipping in a sort of whirlwind of horror, love, admiration and confusion. It amazes me how Plath builds up all these contradictory feelings around the woman she's talking about, then, with "The stars are flashing like terrible numerals," lets them loose onto the universe at large, then finally brings everything back down to a pinpoint with "ABC, her eyelids say." Amazing.
I think it may be helpful to know that this poem was originally titled "An Organizing Woman," and may have been about the woman with whom Sylvia suspected her husband of HAVING an affair, and who gave Sylvia an unfinished piece of needlepoint as a gift.
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I think it may be helpful to know that this poem was originally titled "An Organizing Woman," and may have been about the woman with whom Sylvia suspected her husband of HAVING an affair, and who gave Sylvia an unfinished piece of needlepoint as a gift.