Dear God,

I swore off poetry
last week
for the fifty-umph time.
Plath’s demise
sort of did me in.
I mean who puts their head
in a lit oven?
Who lies so still?
Sylvia.
Beautiful,
sentence-maker.
Dear God, I swear,
I can’t.

for Real Toads

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One thought on “Dear God,

  1. “Liked” though the content’s hard. And the photo! I’m not sure how to respond to that, even though the verse provides flesh over the bones of the image. Such wondrously tough tension here, so deeply expressed. Thank you.

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