“Perhaps you consider yourself an oracle,Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other.Thirty years now I have laboredTo dredge the silt from your throat.I am none the wiser.”
More from Sylvia Plath
“The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.”
“Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.”
“What did my heart do, with its love?”
“And so it seems I must always write you letters that I can never send.”