The Applicant
First, are you our sort of a person?
Do you wearA glass eye, false teeth or a crutch,
A brace or a hook,
Rubber breasts or a rubber crotch,
Stitches to show something's missing?
No, no?
How can we give you a thing?
Stop crying.
Open your hand.
Empty?
Empty.
Here is a
To fill it and
To bring teacups and roll away
And do whatever you tell it.
Will you marry it?
It is
To thumb shut your eyes at the
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
I notice you are stark naked.
How about this suit——Black and stiff, but not a bad fit.
Will you marry it?
It is waterproof, shatterproof,
Against fire and bombs through the roof.
Believe me, they'll bury you in it.
Now your head, excuse me, is empty.
I have the ticket for that.
Come here, sweetie, out of the closet.
Well, what do you think of that ?
Naked as paper to
But in twenty-five years she'll be silver,
In fifty, gold.
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk , talk.
It works, there is nothing wrong with it.
You have a hole, it's a poultice.
You have an eye, it's an image.
My boy, it's your last resort.
Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.
Sylvia Plath
Other author posts
Medusa
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs, Eyes rolled by white sticks, Ears cupping the sea's incoherences, You house your unnerving head—God-ball,
Childless Woman
The Rattles its pod, the Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go My landscape is a hand with no lines,
Getting There
How far is it How far is it now The gigantic gorilla Of the wheels move, they appall me —-The terrible
Barren Woman
Empty, I echo to the least footfall, Museum without statues, grand with pillars, porticoes, rotundas In my courtyard a fountain leaps and sinks back into itself,