Читать книгу Dear Prudence - David Trinidad - Страница 23

UNDERLINED IN SYLVIA PLATH’S COPY OF TENDER IS THE NIGHT

cone of sunshine

redder than the very sun

dead white hours

her face caught the room’s last light

very blonde hair

miles and miles of rolling night

to feel blue

dark world

lost key to the silver closet

stiff white collar

sharp little gray eyes

an emerald hill above

masses of color

suspension between the blues of two heavens

snowy-white transformations, black dresses

lips of cherry red

hair dashed with white like a piano keyboard

“My God,” he gasped, “You’re fun to kiss.”

her softly shining porcelain cheeks

glowing away, white and fresh and new

blue dawn

a large, proud, rose-colored hotel

purple Alp

magic in her pink palms

hot light

brutal sunshine

raw whiteness

blank iron masks

ghostly moonshine

cold blue eyes

ashen faces

white crackling glow of a stage

kaleidoscopic peonies massed in pink clouds, black and brown

tulips and fragile mauve-stemmed roses, transparent like sugar

flowers in a confectioner’s window

scherzo of color

a bowl of spicy pinks

white mirrors of her teeth

fireflies riding on the dark air

a yellow evening bag

single dull star

suspended in the moonshine

erotic darkness

high, black shadow

the white caps of a great sea of graves

the darkness of the night, the darkness of the world

pink majesty

white excitement

It was a windy four-o’clock night, with the leaves on the Champs-Élysées singing and failing, thin and wild.

white semi-circles of panic

the waves grew black

Grief presented itself in its terrible, dark unfamiliar color

the mad hand clutching the steering wheel

Soaring and roaring into the blue

black shape of a tree

there was the eternal moonlight in it

bloody haze

violet darkness

blue paradise

roofless cavern of white moonlight

another little prison

a white sky