A poem upon a conversation with her broken, bounteous heart

A Fixed Idea

by Amy Lowell

What torture lurks within a single thought

When grown too constant; and however kind,

However welcome still, the weary mind

Aches with its presence. Dull remembrance taught

Remembers on unceasingly; unsought

The old delight is with us but to find

That all recurring joy is pain refined,

Become a habit, and we struggle, caught.

You lie upon my heart as on a nest,

Folded in peace, for you can never know

How crushed I am with having you at rest

Heavy upon my life. I love you so

You bind my freedom from its rightful quest.

In mercy lift your drooping wings and go.

A little write up on Plath...

Find me here...you'll have to scroll down a bit, but when you get to the entry about Plath's "The Bed Book," you'll see me and say "I KNOW HER."

Or just perhaps you'll buy Plath's book...which is even better.

p.s. I am working on regular blogs for Antler Magazine, so subscribe to see me.

Dear Books,

I love you forever.

Especially when you shack up with a wine case.

image courtesy of fric and frac