Ainda é Fevereiro, mas as papoilas estão na mente
Poppies in July
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames. Nothing burns.
A mouth just bloodied.
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear read, like the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloody skirts!
There are fumes that I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stiling.
But colourless. Colourless.
Sylvia Plath, Ariel, (Lisboa, Relógio D'Água, 1996), p.165
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