TRUE CONFESSIONS

_____________________

Divorce

Shutting You Up

The Bee Meeting

Aurelia the Bitch

Howls and Whispers

Minotaur Husband

The Wolves Eating Your Daddy

Young Nicholas

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Divorce

“spermy mistletoe”

—Ted Hughes

“Superstition,”

Howls and Whispers

Friday divorced Adam—

Sylvia cast me outta Eden

Saturday killed Sylvia—

So much for evil Eve

Then came Assia’s turn—

How could I trust her?

Same modus operandi—

Gassed her to death

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Shutting You Up

“Mirrors can kill

and talk”

—Sylvia Plath

“The Courage of

Shutting Up,”

Ariel

Stuffing you in the oven—

Shutting you up real good

Turning on the gas—

No more wagging tongue

No more stool pigeons—

Assia had to go too

Fox head, otter head—

Dead rabbits too

Just call me a bored—

Yorkshire Killer

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The Bee Meeting

“Who are these people

at the bridge to meet me?”

—Sylvia Plath

“The Bee Meeting,”

Ariel

Lies and more lies—

Your poetry a dark city

Your novels, stories—

You journal suburbs

A nice big city—

To make lots of money

I’ll drain your life—

With death’s royalties

Busy scholars, critics—

Pilgrims, Lesbos libbers

Greedy just like me—

To make a quick buck

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Aurelia the Bitch

“Hit him

in the purse”

—Aurelia Plath

Letter to Sylvia Plath,

“Howls and Whispers”

Aurelia hated my guts—

I was an evil bacterium

The gigolo who aborted—

Sylvia’s pedigree career

“Be strong,” Aurelia said—

“Go straight for a divorce”

Your analyst said the same—

“Keep him out of your bed”

And so you kicked me out—

Out of our Court Green

Burned my manuscripts—

I was in a real jam

What else could I do—

You’d of ruined my career

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Howls and Whispers

"One day when you are older,

you will regret being my daughter"

—Ted Hughes, "The Poison that Drove

Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes Apart."

The Sunday Times 28 March 2010

I’ve been watching—

Wondering what they’ll do

When they find out—

What really happened

So new to their unlived lives—

So ready for anything

They could never imagine—

What I’d really done

Then my white mask—

My spreading fingers

Ruby and wringing—

Screaming to myself

He and his sister—

Caught in my labyrinth

It doesn’t take a medium—

To decipher a nightmare

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Minotaur Husband

“the surreal mystery”

—Ted Hughes,

“The Minotaur,”

Howls and Whispers

I’m the plot unfolding—

Here deep inside me

My fingers like cripples—

The scene of the crime

A surreal mystery—

Performing murder

Here in the center—

Inside the labyrinth

Waiting to kill her—

That cold London night

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The Wolves Are Eating Your Daddy

“that is not your mother”

—Ted Hughes, “The Dogs

Are Eating Your Mother,
Birthday Letters

It’s not your mother—

The wolves are eating me

It’s me running from—

The bloodthirsty howls

How succulent I’ll be—

When they find out the truth

When the hyena comes—

And digs up my grave

What a cornucopia—

Of shame and guilt I’ll be

But then you already sense it—

Out there on the Brooks Range

Think better of me—

When the vultures circle me

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Young Nicholas

“Your son’s eyes”

—Ted Hughes,

“Life After Death,”

Birthday Letters

Your son’s eyes—

Which unsettled us

With his Slavic—

Asiatic epicanthic fold

They would become—

So perfectly your eyes

Did he hear it—

The howling wolves at night?

There on Fitzroy Road—

Up there in Yeats’ flat?

Is that why—

He fled to Alaska?