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“Two Sisters of Persephone”

 

by Sylvia Plath, 1956

   
   
  Two girls there are: within the house
One sits; the other, without.
Daylong a duet of shade and light
Plays between these.
 
 
 
   
5 In her dark wainscoted room
The first works problems on
A mathematical machine.
Dry ticks mark time
 
 
 
   
  As she calculates each sum.
At this barren enterprise
Rat-shrewd go her squint eyes,
Root-pale her meager frame.
10
 
 
   
  Bronzed as earth, the second lies,
Hearing ticks blown gold
Like pollen on bright air. Lulled
Near a bed of poppies,
 
15
 
   
  She sees how their red silk flare
Of petaled blood
Burns open to the sun's blade.
On that green altar
 
 
20
   
  Freely become sun's bride, the latter
Grows quick with seed.
Grass-couched in her labor's pride,
She bears a king. Turned bitter
 
 
 
   
25 And sallow as any lemon,
The other, wry virgin to the last,
Goes graveward with flesh laid waste,
Worm-husbanded, yet no woman.