If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating. Both of you are great light borrowers. Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected. And your first gift is making stone out of everything. I wake to a mausoleum; you are here, Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes, Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous, And dying to say something unanswerable. The moon, too, abases her subjects, But in the daytime she is ridiculous. Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand, Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity, White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide. No day is safe from news of you, Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me
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Text Authorship:
- by Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Lori Laitman (b. 1955), "The Rival", 2008/2017, first performed 2008 [ soprano and piano ], from The blood Jet, no. 2 [sung text not yet checked]
Researcher for this page: Joost van der Linden [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2025-09-13
Line count: 17
Word count: 126