clever girl, she was

for comfort, for inspiration
I dive

into Sylvia's poetry.
the colors,
the images, the metaphors
so ripe

for picking.
that surprising turn
of phrase.

I want to steal her dark fruit,
pick

the fat plums
right off the branch and make
them my
own.

have the juices of her fertile
mind
run down
my chin,

clever girl she was.
sadly
gone.