Innocent and naive without depiction: the face of a balloon

My brain isn’t full of words and 'wisdom' today, from the frantic thought and scribble in the exam today (!). So I thought I’d share a poem from the volume Ariel by Sylvia Plath, a lovely Christmas present from Milly.

Balloons

Since Christmas they have lived with us,

Guileless and clear,

Oval soul-animals,

Taking up half the space,

Moving and rubbing on the silk

Invisible air drifts,

Giving a shriek and pop

When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.

Yellow cathead, blue fish –

Such queer moons we live with

Instead of dead furniture!

Straw mats, white walls,

And these travelling

Globes of thin air, red, green,

Delighting

The heart like wishes or free

Peacocks blessing

Old ground with a feather

Beaten in starry metals.

Your small

Brother is making his balloon squeak like a cat.

Seeming to see

A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it,

He bites,

Then sits

Back, fat jug

Contemplating a world clear as water.

A red

Shred in his little fist    

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