Will they occur, <br />These people with torso of steel <br />Winged elbows and eyeholes <br /> <br />Awaiting masses <br />Of cloud to give them expression, <br />These super-people! - <br />And my baby a nail <br />Driven, driven in. <br />He shrieks in his grease <br /> <br />Bones nosing for distance. <br />And I, nearly extinct, <br />His three teeth cutting <br /> <br />Themselves on my thumb - <br />And the star, <br />The old story. <br /> <br />In the lane I meet sheep and wagons, <br />Red earth, motherly blood. <br />O You who eat <br /> <br />People like light rays, leave <br />This one <br />Mirror safe, unredeemed <br /> <br />By the dove's annihilation, <br />The glory <br />The power, the glory.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brasilia/
