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“Two Sisters
of Persephone” |
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by Sylvia Plath, 1956 |
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Two girls there are: within the house
One sits; the other, without.
Daylong a duet of shade and light
Plays between these. |
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In her dark wainscoted room
The first works problems on
A mathematical machine.
Dry ticks mark time |
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As she calculates each sum.
At this barren enterprise
Rat-shrewd go her squint eyes,
Root-pale her meager frame. |
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10 |
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Bronzed as earth, the second lies,
Hearing ticks blown gold
Like pollen on bright air. Lulled
Near a bed of poppies, |
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She sees how their red silk flare
Of petaled blood
Burns open to the sun's blade.
On that green altar |
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Freely become sun's bride, the latter
Grows quick with seed.
Grass-couched in her labor's pride,
She bears a king. Turned bitter |
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And sallow as any lemon,
The other, wry virgin to the last,
Goes graveward with flesh laid waste,
Worm-husbanded, yet no woman. |
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