elizabeth alexander - “the female seer will burn upon this pyre” lyrics
sylvia plath is setting my hair
on rollers made from orange+juice cans
the hairdo is shaped like a pyre
my locks are improbably long
a pyramid of lemons somehow
balances on the rickety table
where we sit, in the rented kitchen
which smells of singed naps and bergamot
sylvia plath is surprisingly adept
at rolling my unruly hair
she knows to pull it tight
few words
her flat, american belly
her br++sts in a twin sweater set
stack of typed poems on her desk
envelopеs stamped to go by the door
a freshly bakеd poppyseed cake
kitchen safety matches, black+eyed susans
in a cobalt jelly jar. she speaks a word
“immolate,” then a single sentence
of prophecy. the hairdo done
the nursery tidy, the floor swept clean
of burnt hair and bumblebee husks
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