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More poems by Sylvia PlathSylvia Plath | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments (4) | Books by Sylvia PlathBooks by Sylvia Plath

Poppies In July

Sylvia Plath

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker.  I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames.  Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless.  Colorless.


Submitted by Laura Perkins

Added: 16 Feb 2003 | Last Read: 19 Jun 2018 4:24 AM | Viewed: 14454 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/7893/ | Viewed on 19 June 2018.
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