Rocky Mountains

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Cut

Sylvia Plath


For Susan O'Neill Roe


What a thrill ---

My thumb instead of an onion.

The top quite gone

Except for a sort of a hinge


Of skin,

A flap like a hat,

Dead white.

Then that red plush.


Little pilgrim,

The Indian's axed your scalp.

Your turkey wattle

Carpet rolls


Straight from the heart.

I step on it,

Clutching my bottle

Of pink fizz.


A celebration, this is.

Out of a gap

A million soldiers run,

Redcoats, every one.


Whose side are they on?

O my

Homunculus, I am ill.

I have taken a pill to kill


The thin

Papery feeling.

Saboteur,

Kamikaze man ---


The stain on your

Gauze Ku Klux Klan

Babushka

Darkens and tarnishes and when


The balled

Pulp of your heart

Confronts its small

Mill of silence


How you jump ---

Trepanned veteran,

Dirty girl,

Thumb stump.


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