A Motionless Voyage
The tram drags itself along its prescribed track to Happy Valley;
Small squeals burst recurrently from its wheels,
Conveying neither bliss nor pain.
A pale kitten sits like a frail rose behind a window pane
And watches dust rises from these construction sites
That never cease to flare up.
Sweating men bend over a range of baby desert mountains
As pure strength glows like gold under their lasting noonday skin,
Calling a hint of bitterness to her pupils.
It expands, permeates, but swiftly recedes back
Into the black before someone catches it.
Her stomach shrinks; her paper body cries for food.
But the pineapple bun in her hands erodes like a stubborn cliff.
She flushes the last ample bite down with forceful gulps.
Why has eating lately too become such a drag?
The tram pauses in front of the Central Library.
She hops off to blistering heat, and enters
The soul of a doll trapped under a straightened duvet
Across a lifeless bed, hardly having room to breath.
Her eyes petrified, but
Her clean, firm cheeks betray this deadening.
The world and her, their incompatibility only widens.
Because the clumsy child in her fails to mutate.
We live in a reality where virginity is a shame.
even in the presence of love, in the presence of hunger.
And the more deeply I felt
the less able I was to respond.
written by Louise Glück, from “Timor Mortis” (via violentwavesofemotion)
written by Sylvis Plath (via thesearentveins)