"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?