I Am Vertical

But I would rather be horizontal.

I am not a tree with my root in the soil

Sucking up minerals and motherly love

So that each March I may gleam into leaf,

Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed

Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,

Unknowing I must soon unpetal.

Compared with me, a tree is immortal

And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,

And I want the one’s longevity and the other’s daring.

Tonight, in the infinitesimal light of the stars,

The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.

I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.

Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping

I must most perfectly resemble them–

Thoughts gone dim.

It is more natural to me, lying down.

Then the sky and I are in open conversation,

And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:

Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.

Sylvia Plath

*I’ve been trying to finish “The Bell Jar” for the longest time.  I even bought two copies;  one in the province and another here in Manila.  Such is my resolve. I got introduced to Sylvia Plath’s works when I had a brief stint in Hobbit land.  I had my colleagues guessing where I’m off to every weekend when we were there.  I always told them I have a date with Sylvia.  I didn’t bother to explain who Sylvia was.  I spent my weekends lounging in the public library and just sifting through her diary.  I got a copy of her “Crossing the Water” book of poetry from Amazon when some really cool folks gifted me with gift certificates from that store.  I think Sylvia is brilliant.  Dead, but brilliant.