The womb <br />Rattles its pod, the moon <br />Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go. <br /> <br />My landscape is a hand with no lines, <br />The roads bunched to a knot, <br />The knot myself, <br /> <br />Myself the rose you acheive—- <br />This body, <br />This ivory <br /> <br />Ungodly as a child's shriek. <br />Spiderlike, I spin mirrors, <br />Loyal to my image, <br /> <br />Uttering nothing but blood—- <br />Taste it, dark red! <br />And my forest <br /> <br />My funeral, <br />And this hill and this <br />Gleaming with the mouths of corpses.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/childless-woman-2/
