It took me a while to really absorb the poems in this book. I’ve been keeping this book near my bed and re-reading it as much as I can. The more I do, the more I am amazed by Sylvia’s words. Images are bursted through every line and the aching heart from a sensitive soul is undeniable.
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“Dying
Is an art, like everything else.” - Lady Lazarus
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“Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.”
- Poppies in July

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“I am terrified by this dark thing
That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse.”
- Elm