Josë
| Location | Spain |
|---|---|
| Introduction | 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 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'm sorry if it's corny to put this in my profile, but I'm so much in love with this poem. I'll want it in my gravestone.) |