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Sylvia Plath - Two Sisters Of Persephone
Work rating: Medium

Two girls there are : within the house
One sits; the other, without.
Daylong a duet of shade and light
Plays between these. 

In her dark wainscoted room
The first works problems on
A mathematical machine.
Dry ticks mark time 

As she calculates each sum.
At this barren enterprise
Rat-shrewd go her squint eyes,
Root-pale her meager frame. 

Bronzed as earth, the second lies,
Hearing ticks blown gold
Like pollen on bright air. Lulled
Near a bed of poppies, 

She sees how their red silk flare
Of petaled blood
Burns open to the sun`s blade.
On that green alter 

Freely become sun`s bride, the latter
Grows quick with seed.
Grass-couched in her labor`s pride,
She bears a king. Turned bitter 

And sallow as any lemon,
The other, wry virgin to the last,
Goes graveward with flesh laid waste,
Worm-husbanded, yet no woman.
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