To Sylvia Plath

written by


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Sleepwalking she prepared breakfast
for her still dreaming children, before
breaking fast, to satisfy her appetite

no fire needed, she all-consuming flame
bravely cowered on the kitchen floor
and slaked an antique thirst on vapor

laying her dream-tormented head to rest
she took premature or belated leave, set
out to sea, having found no harbor here.

© Yahia Lababidi