Morning Song

Morning Song
by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.

I'm no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind's hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.

From Ariel, published by Harper & Row, 1966. Copyright © 1966 by Ted Hughes. All rights reserved. Used by arrangement with HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Spring is like a perhaps hand...

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and
changing everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and from moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and
without breaking anything.

e.e.cummings

The Remains Of A Day

She came back to the place where she had initially met him. It didn't matter to her as much knowing that they both now had better lives.She could tell he had met somebody else; somebody that brought more to life that when he was with her.But it didn't matter so long as she knew he was happy..
To her, life without him didn't make much sense..life was passing by and day by day she was wishing he was out there, somewhere, looking for her, wondering about her, feeling that one day...but no. Not to her. It didn't matter any more. So, day in day out she lived her life as normal.Went to work, fed her cat, read a novel, thought about her life,and hoped... She didn't travel as much as she wanted to. In fact, since she left, there was hardly any time left for her to concentrate in travelling;or going out with somebody.The only thing she could think of was keeping up appearances. Pretending it didn't hurt as much when she was thinking of all the times she had spend with him.
Other times she got angry.Angry of the way he had treated her. All those nights she spend alone while he was away with some other fine woman or two. All the times he had promised her things and never kept to his words...all the times he made her cry and never turned back to say a comforting word so as to ease her pain or prevent her tears from surfacing.These times worthed nothing anymore. For they were the remains of a day that did not belong to any present circumstance.
She was alone...and he was still out there...