Sylvia Plath · USA · 1962
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it—— A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin O my enemy. Do I terrify?—— The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine lives to die. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
Sylvia Plath · USA · 1962
I have done it again. One year in every ten I manage it—— A sort of walking miracle, my skin Bright as a Nazi lampshade, My right foot A paperweight, My face a featureless, fine Jew linen. Peel off the napkin O my enemy. Do I terrify?—— The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath Will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh The grave cave ate will be At home on me And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine lives to die. Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.
“I have done it again.…”
I've survived again. Every decade or so, I somehow come back from the edge — it has become almost routine.
“A sort of walking miracle, my skin…”
I'm a kind of living miracle, though my body feels fragile, almost like an object. Look at me — do I frighten you? My features will recover soon enough.
“A paperweight,…”
Soon my body will feel like home again. I'm only thirty years old. Like a cat with nine lives, I keep dying and coming back.
“Peel off the napkin…”
From the destruction, from the ashes of each breakdown, I rise again — fierce, red-haired, unstoppable. I have survived everything that tried to consume me.
“The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?…”
From the destruction, from the ashes of each breakdown, I rise again — fierce, red-haired, unstoppable. I have survived everything that tried to consume me.
“Soon, soon the flesh…”
From the destruction, from the ashes of each breakdown, I rise again — fierce, red-haired, unstoppable. I have survived everything that tried to consume me.
“And I a smiling woman.…”
From the destruction, from the ashes of each breakdown, I rise again — fierce, red-haired, unstoppable. I have survived everything that tried to consume me.
“Out of the ash…”
From the destruction, from the ashes of each breakdown, I rise again — fierce, red-haired, unstoppable. I have survived everything that tried to consume me.
Why this poem matters
Written just months before her death, Plath composed this in the confessional style, drawing on her own suicide attempts while referencing Holocaust imagery to depict female rage and resilience.