i wanted to be your sylvia plath

your wounded wordsmith

brilliant and neglected

the melancholy mood

lingering between us

perfect for

composing prose

the damp air

of the English countryside

tainted by

carbon monoxide

good thing

you didn’t light the birthday candles

–

i wanted to be your anaïs nin

your erotic iconoclast

uncaged and courageous

the feverish fantasies

imagined passions

perfect for

escaping

the bitter realities

the mind’s vulgarities

spilled across

crisp journal pages

good thing

you didn’t catch that little bird

–

i wanted to be your virginia woolf

your fluent femininst

observant and obsolete

standing at

the banks of your river

waiting to be baptized

before finding

a room of one’s own

inside myself

good thing

you didn’t explore that lighthouse

–

a.duncan 2016