Ms. Plath took her life in a bell jar.

Ms. Plath took her life in a bell jar and
she sleeps with crawling things beneath the floor,
she made preserves that last not ever more.

She left behind a work so short but grande,
her life's become the stuff of mythic lore,
Ms. Plath took her life in a bell jar and

her work today upon its merit stands.
Yet we with questions knock upon her door,
she made preserves that last not ever more.

Why did she snap her own soul's mystic band,
and sent herself past distant mystic shores?
Ms. Plath took her life in a bell jar and

she left her peppered word among the bland.
We'd like, though there will not in time be more.
She made preserves that last not ever more.

If she had known her silence on the land,
she may not have succumbed to her last chore.
Ms. Plath took her life in a bell jar and
she made preserves that last not ever more.

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos