“Dear Sylvia Plath” by Carol Berg

Dear Sylvia Plath

The sunlight is swallowed inside
the grey clouds this October day even

as the orange lights of the oak leaves
burn on & the backyard woods are thinning.

We are losing our honey bees
we are losing our democracies.

The mail passed by hand — medical bills
we can’t afford to pay while mail passed

electronically: stuffed vitriol of hate & anger.
So many minds burning in rage at their neighbors.

This would not be new to you, but what is new:
the slaughtering in public places — opposite

of the private suicide. If only we could shapeshift
into our own dawns, if only we galloped toward

the sunrise, driven, driven. Dear Sylvia, men
still consume us with their powerful mouths.

But we keep turning, little witches,
rising out of our kitchens, black cauldrons in our hands

beating out our new laws, our very own constitutions.

Carol Berg

Carol Berg’s poems are forthcoming or in Crab Creek Review (Poetry Finalist 2017), DMQ Review, Sou’wester, The Journal, Spillway, South Dakota Review, Redactions, Radar Poetry, and Verse Wisconsin. Her recent chapbook, The Johnson Girls, is available from Dancing Girl Press. She was winner of a scholarship to Poets on the Coast and a recipient of a Finalist’s Grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council.

Headshot: Jenn Monroe

Photo Credit: Staff