The Sylvia Plath Forum

Poems inspired by Sylvia Plath


Last Supper
(for Sylvia Plath)

In the beginning
there was gas only
no gravity yet
to gather the tall cold clouds
no life to explode
like pain
on the absolute void.

Tonight we are back
where we started.
The skies grow monstrous.
The universe lacks cohesion.
Dead planets hang stiff
as bad ideas.
Oblivion sleeps in the folds of towels
I have folded in windows and drafty doors
claws soundlessly up the arms of a chair
to curl in my lap
like some terrible pet.

The good air is gone from this room
for good.
It is oozing to gas
like dream to nightmare.
with flared nostrils
a neighbor wakes.
sweet tenant
I'm only dining.
Though appetite wanes
to a breadcrust moon
though nothing is thawed

turn up the oven.

We fast tonight
on the fumes of old chaos
that churn red blood
to a thin bitter wine
ideal for toasting
the space between stars
where gas piles forever
in high black drifts
like the promise
and threat

of a new creation.

David Hall
Ft. Collins, Colorado, USA
Friday, December 1, 2000


The Sylvia Plath Forum is administered by Elaine Connell, author of Sylvia Plath: Killing The Angel In The House.

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