by Julia Buckley
It's been a crazy week; I spent lots of it doing paperwork, and in the breaks I tried like a madwoman to clean my house for my son's Communion reception. There wasn't a lot of time to prepare my blog, but I thought it might be fun to share a mystery in the form of a poem by Sylvia Plath. This one has been a favorite of mine since high school, but it's especially poignant for mothers.
METAPHORS
by Sylvia Plath
I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.
The last line is my favorite.
I'm curious to know if there are other poems out there which are also mysteries; Browning's "My Last Duchess" comes to mind--but what others? Share your ideas with Poe's Deadly Daughters!
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