The Rape Of Sylvia Plath

Sitting in a poetry class being conducted by,
you guessed it, Emily Dickinson,
a puzzled look spreads across

Sylvia Plath’s face, the look spreads
to her clothes, her shoes, the very chair
that confines her, the look spreads

to the Harvard buildings, the adjacent grounds,
grass becomes pale, trees topple,
squirrels stand at attention and atonement.

When Emily completes her lecture
everything comes back to normal,
everything returns to its rightful place,

it’s as if nothing has been said,
it’s as if nothing has happened at all.
But, that look never leaves Sylvia’s face.