3My hope died in my mind while I late read
At night while tears dried on my pallid face.
Did excessive thoughts of Plath focus my dread?
My mother used to say that her heart bled
But never did we share a warm embrace
A mouse died to Cain’s rue the Bible said.
We mourn the loss of those weighed down by lead
The heart has rooms which accidents deface
Did the flight of Sylvia Plath focus my dread?
My mother and my father shared a bed
I rocked in cradle wild as outer space
A mouse lived in Dad’s shoe, that’s why he’s dead.
My mother turned from father’s lost dear head
I had come between them, blocked the joining place
As Ariel tempted Plath, she willed her dread
Look again, oh mother, know my face.
Respond to my new being, give me place.
As she puts on her shoe, she says I’m dead
Did thoughts disowned by God desire her dread?
How my heart sings 