Sylvia Plath re-calls the Poetry Crisis Line

COUNSELOR: Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?

CALLER: You do not do,

COUNSELOR: What don’t I do?

CALLER: you do not do / Any more,

COUNSELOR: What don’t I do any more of? Or anymore?

CALLER: black shoe

COUNSELOR: Is that like soft-shoe?

CALLER: In which I have lived

COUNSELOR: So, more like the old lady in a shoe? How much floor space?

CALLER: like a foot   

COUNSELOR: That’s tough. How long have you lived there?

CALLER: For thirty years,

COUNSELOR: So you can’t get out of the mortgage? Is there anywhere else you could go? Like maybe a vacation slipper?

CALLER: poor and white,   

COUNSELOR: Then… uh… boot camp?

CALLER: Barely daring to breathe or

COUNSELOR: I imagine it must really stink, living there.

CALLER: Achoo.

COUNSELOR: Gesundheit.

CALLER: Daddy, I have had to kill you.   

COUNSELOR: That seems like a lot to bear.

CALLER: You died before I had time——

COUNSELOR: Was that a relief?

CALLER: Marble-heavy,

COUNSELOR: So…still a Lizzie burden.

CALLER: a bag full of God,   

COUNSELOR: Are there angels pinned to it?

CALLER: Ghastly statue with one gray toe   

COUNSELOR: Was that toe statue in the living room? Of the shoe house?

CALLER: Big as a Frisco seal

COUNSELOR: So… in the kitchen with the Rice-A-Roni?

 

Click here to read the rest of “Daddy” by Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath calls the Poetry Crisis Line

COUNSELOR: Poetry Crisis Line. What is your emergency?
CALLER: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
COUNSELOR: What, you mean literally?
CALLER: I lift my lids and all is born again.
COUNSELOR: Well that’s a relief. But what if I like me the way I am?
CALLER: (I think I made you up inside my head.)
COUNSELOR: No, I’m really here. I’m, like, ninety percent sure of that.
CALLER: The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
COUNSELOR: Are you watching the presidential debate? Or Dancing With the Stars?
CALLER: And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
COUNSELOR: The horse race? I once bet a twenty on Arbitrary Blackness.
CALLER: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
COUNSELOR: Right. Is there maybe some coffee nearby? Or Red Bull?
CALLER: I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
COUNSELOR: Well that’s sweet of you.
CALLER: And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
COUNSELOR: You’re very sweet, but really, um, I shouldn’t mix…
CALLER: (I think I made you up inside my head.)
COUNSELOR: No, I’m real. I’m, like, eighty percent sure at least.
CALLER: God topples from the sky,
COUNSELOR: I don’t know if He’s real.
CALLER: hell’s fires fade:
COUNSELOR: I’m pretty sure they’re not real.
CALLER: Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
COUNSELOR: Wait, what?
CALLER: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
COUNSELOR: Look, I take it back about the Red Bull. You need a rest. I’ll risk it.
CALLER [glancing at oven]: I fancied you’d return the way you said,
COUNSELOR: I’m still here. I haven’t gone anywhere.
CALLER: But I grow old and I forget your name.
COUNSELOR: I didn’t tell you my name. This call is anonymous.
CALLER [walking over to oven]: (I think I made you up inside my head.)
COUNSELOR: It’s not THAT anonymous.
CALLER [putting hand on oven door]: I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
COUNSELOR: Like the wine?
CALLER: At least when spring comes they roar back again.
COUNSELOR: Oh, the car! Yeah the sound of a T-bird engine turns me on, too.
CALLER: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
COUNSELOR: Don’t close them when you’re driving! Pull over and get some rest.
CALLER: (I think I made you up inside my head.)
COUNSELOR: That again? What if I made you up, huh? Did you think of that, Solipsism Girl? Did you?
[CALLER hangs up, opens oven door, bends down, leans into the oven, and takes out a loaf of fresh bread.]