Illustration of Sylvia Plath by Shannon Levin
Father's Day Father, father You peeled the smile off of my face and yellowed my soul with talks of your pain your struggles sugar coating everything and letting the venom seep in afterwards The twenty dollars you left on the ironing board every other week kept my mouth shut Like bandages they fell off leaving my wounds to bleed profusely It is easy to pretend not to know to be cold like snow But father, father the men I meet are a lot like you They melt my morals with the heat of lovemaking and I learned to say "yes" to go along with their every whim My pliant flesh bears all the misery you gave mother I get crushed damaged then recover only to begin all over again My Degree and Other Things You Don't Know About Me I am… a genie in a bottle drifting from sea to shore shrouded by a cloud no folded resume enclosed explains who I am a cardboard face like in those antidepressant ads two circles for eyes a curved line for a mouth a stick of a neck to hold an occupant between scraps of memories like a pressed rose in an old diary the stamp of honor on my diploma faded and forgotten Bio Note: I write free verses, rhyming poems, and Japanese short form poetry, some of which saw the light of day in journals like Alien Buddha Zine, Spillwords, and Cajun Mutt Press, Fevers of the Mind Press. I am also a Jeopardy fan.
Fevers of the Mind 