I Spent An Hour With Sylvia Plath Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I spent an hour with Sylvia Plath
Beside her grave, but she was dumb
No voice cut through the heavy clods
The words lay buried on her tongue

I thought how marriage falls apart
How madness finds the smallest crack
How kisses twist from honey drops
To hornet stings, from Hell and back

A thrush speared worms with its sharp beak
Where mushrooms rose from their dank spoor
Like tumours from the graveyard's heart
Her poems, undead, live on, secure