A Birthday Present by Sylvia Plath

Sweetly, sweetly I breathe in,
Filling my veins with invisible, with the million

Probable motes that tick the years off my life.
You are silver-suited for the occasion. O adding machine-----

Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?
Must you stamp each piece purple,

Must you kill what you can?
There is one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me.

 
  

Angeliki KapoglouComment