England – February 1963
The worst winter in memory
pipes and birds were freezing
heaters gave up
snow lay crusting under foot
– it was too cold
for more.
That night
she bought stamps from a neighbour
for letters she knew she’d never post
made breakfast for the kids
sometime before dawn
left it on a tray
beside their beds
opening their window at the top
closed and taped up
their bedroom door
walked to the kitchen
turned on the gas.
This woman like a mask of Plath
was lost and tortured
but the film barely lets her poetry
poke through
before it also dies
summoning a ghost of Sylvia
the chasmed faces of mother-less children
and a body wrapped in red
hurried out
over the suburban snow.
Image by Anna Jiménez Calaf
