7 Nisan 2017 Cuma

Morning Song by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch. 
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry   
Took its place among the elements. 

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. 
In a drafty museum, your nakedness 
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. 

I’m no more your mother 
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow 
Effacement at the wind’s hand. 

All night your moth-breath 
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: 
A far sea moves in my ear. 

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral 
In my Victorian nightgown. 
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s. The window square 

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try 
Your handful of notes; 
The clear vowels rise like balloons.