An Appearance The smile of iceboxes annihilates me. Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one! I hear her great heart purr. From her lips ampersands and percent signs Exit like kisses. It is Monday in her mind: morals Launder and present themselves. What am I to make of these contradictions? I wear white cuffs, I bow. Is this love then, this red material Issuing from the steel needle that flies so blindingly? It will make little dreses and coats, It will cover a dynasty. How her body opens and shuts— A Swiss watch, jeweled in the hinges! O heart, such disorganization! The stars are flashing like terrible numerals. ABC, her eyelids say. 4 April 1962 —Sylvia Plath --

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