Wednesday, 13 March 2013

"Famous Last Words"

She wrote a poem,

entitled "Edge".

Six days later,

she was dead.

They think that I'm fine.

At least I can still write

my poems, and be ignored.

Poetry was Sylvia's "deepest health".

It's mine as well -

and our oven -

well, it isn't even gas,

after all.

Just as well.

More's the pity?

Just as well?

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