The Lost Testimony of Sylvia Plath
by Ben Szwediuk
Her approach was cautious. Her determination wrought, upon a face scarred quiet with morbid contemplations and unsated yearning thoughts.
Upon pallid, plain and earnest visage, a youth of intellect and love that could not find object in men upon earth or above.
In verse and pointed prose she sought for spirits kindred and verdant lives. But her seeds fell upon barren ground and so she moved toward the light.
The husband that swore he'd keep her, the offspring that clung cold. To her betrayed no respite for a soul nor body that would grow old.
And so, one day when she lay alone again she fastened tight the doors, and laid their little hearts down to rest safe from life's most terrible of laws.
Sealed lonely as she ever was, and with solitude at last, she paused not to stagnate her actions, nor to contemplate the past.
The grease they warmed and filled her nose, dark grit grazed her perfect teeth, as she thrust her life into the oven and for the ultimate relief.
Where once her words were greet with trite derision,and brushed aside as idle fluff, now tower as portentous warning of when pain of living is enough.