poem | when you sit with sylvia plath at lunch

and when sylvia plath
sits with you at lunch
have you found yourself
or lost the world?

(probably both)

pages crinkle in place
of conversation scraps
and words bloom into 
poem drafts,
it's not so quiet
in the library:
dew drops form in frontal crevices
so much to understand
except what you want to know
now it is timeless but the 
bell rings and off you go

(don't get lost
I hear it's a jungle of sorrow)

© Ella Levick apoeticdaydreamer.com
Instagram/Pinterest: @apoeticdaydreamer

One thought on “poem | when you sit with sylvia plath at lunch”

1. Some fine origami crinkled emotions to be or not to be, dew drops in gray matter, a plethora of plath perhaps will ring a bell in a bell jar full of mustard to spread on the conversion like a hot dog or cold dog barking for a morsel to understand before the tea must be served for a Kabuki that needs a translator or sub-titles for a funeral-march March song in a spring board day where the jumping off point is taken, but the landing is uncertain.

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