Cornered And Devoured

I am flushed and warm.
I think I may be enormous,

--   from 'Letter in November' by Sylvia Plath




I bloom. No!
Rather...
I ripen and become a deep golden red;
Heavy and sweet.
Testing the branches that have held me for so long.
By a mercy will I fall
And be granted lenitive freedom
Will this imagined, glass-clear curse be lifted
For how long;
Until when;
And
Why now?
Boiled in my skin, near splitting.
Yielding to the sharp edge,
Wilting on the hot oil
Then
Seasoned with promise —
The vines of yesterday no longer around my
Arms and neck.
Now;
Compliant.
Now;
Wild.
Now;
Depraved.

I am
The wanton meal upon your table
Spread me thin,
Poach me.
Or slice me open and
Set me afire.