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More poems by Sylvia PlathSylvia Plath | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (20) | Books by Sylvia PlathBooks by Sylvia Plath

Cut

Sylvia Plath

     for Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they one?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ----

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump ----
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.

Added: 7 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 22 Jan 2018 9:20 AM | Viewed: 36985 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/1388/ | Viewed on 22 January 2018.
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