Poem Hunter
Poppies In July
(October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963 / Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts)

Poppies In July

Poem By Sylvia Plath

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless. Colorless.

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Comments (2)

It strikes me that she is alluding to a suffering that finds itself inaccessible to mediation interventetion, or appeasement. Her suffering's rawness is so real that the order of its realness condemns it to remaining complete as an object and insuperable to any dilution which therefore demands that it can only and must be indured and tolerated resulting in a subjective exhaustion.
what exactlyl is this poem sopposed to mean i need to know for skool