In the Throes of Postmodern Delusion, Huuklyeand Cinquor Fancies Himself Addressing One of the Icons of 20th Century Poetry

My dearest Sylvia--
(May I call you that?)
 
Forgive me but I think 
It's high time you knew

Your pure peerless line
Of pears fattening keeps on

Thriving as never before,
Being ravenously consumed

By bookish little Buddha inchworms
Contemplating their navels

All the way down to a rotten core. 



Moderator's comments: I see no signs of any delusion in this missive but then again, too much language-oriented omphaloskepsis on my part makes it difficult for me to distinguish my umbilicus from my belly button.

That Last Chapter, Just Like That

“I think as I age, I’m becoming more historical.” 
—Sylvia Plath, from a 1962 interview 


Not what you might think at first but simply that 
She was beginning to read more history, 
Nothing more than that.

 . 


2012 and now looking at a photograph of her, 
Young and looking so vivacious 
Some fifty years back, it’s hard to imagine 
How that lovely head could have 
Put an end to it all—

.


(So terrible a timeworn phrase, 
To be avoided at all costs)

 . 


Yet the longer and harder you look, 
You cannot help but see 

Her eyes are trying hard 
To focus on whatever it was 

That made it all so easy.