Last Words Poem by Sylvia Plath

Last Words

I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagusWith tigery stripes, and a face on itRound as the moon, to stare up.I want to be looking at them when they comePicking among the dumb minerals, the roots.I see them already--the pale, star-distance faces.Now they are nothing, they are not even babies.I imagine them without fathers or mothers, like the first gods.They will wonder if I was important.I should sugar and preserve my days like fruit!My mirror is clouding over ---A few more breaths, and it will reflect nothing at all.The flowers and the faces whiten to a sheet.I do not trust the spirit. It escapes like steamIn dreams, through mouth-hole or eye-hole. I can't stop it.One day it won't come back. Things aren't like that.They stay, their little particular lustersWarmed by much handling. They almost purr.When the soles of my feet grow cold,The blue eye of my turquoise will comfort me.Let me have my copper cooking pots, let my rouge potsBloom about me like night flowers, with a good smell.They will roll me up in bandages, they will store my heartUnder my feet in a neat parcel.I shall hardly know myself. It will be dark,And the shine of these small things sweeter than the face of Ishtar.***Back to Sylvia Plath Poems Thank you for visitingLast Words Poem by Sylvia Plath. We hope you have enjoyed the poetry. You may visit other Sylvia Plath poems here:

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