The Bell Jar

The fig tree, every path ripening while she starves. My whole twenties, illustrated.

The jar isn't lifted. It's just lifted a little. Honest ending, no rainbow.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.

The electroshock scene made me afraid of hospitals, then grateful for better ones.

Esther wanted to be a poet, editor, traveler, and the world offered wife, stenographer, teacher.

Jay Cee told her to become a specialist. The book is what happens to a generalist in 1953.

The cocktail dress from the magazine contest, she chose her armor and it didn't fit.

How did I know that someday the bell jar would descend again? Care, written with eyes open.

Marco the woman-hater danced her around the room by force. Plath logged it like a reporter.

One novel, whole life. I carried out: name the jar so you can hear the glass.