I’ve been trying to work my way into Sylvia Plath
after believing a biographer’s argument that she (Sylvia) wasn’t the tragic suicidal she’s made out to be but
5 poems in, Sylvia’s words on paper like lines of a death march.
I can not find the biographer anywhere in this words like dirt spilled down on coffin
they plunk down plunk plunk plunk upon the casketed windows and doors of history
5 poems in and I close the cover return the
verses so eloquently back to the library
one the truth the other a lie
we must all decide for ourselves how our story will be told.