Plath's Pockets

Artwork: Maddy Watson

One doubled, we go out to eat,


For two. Then:

Home again.

Still hungry, he eats me out.

Still starving, wish I’d stayed in.

My hollow cave

Groans, apple core brain coated by

Thin skin.

Fat chance. I

Face the fact.

His seeds simply won’t accept

The arid soil in me; just

Tumble and dry.

My cherry syrup smears his mouth,

I have,

Bare parched lips,

Bloody thighs

A white sculptured waist in mind,

A landscape, cut off sharp by

The knife inside

My cavern, my fertile grotto.

Tip tap.

Empty room,

Full silence.

Who is that inside there now?

Who would like to sneak a peek?

Someone knocking?

But no, the moon drops right out of

The sky.

Swelling tides,

Flat voices.

It’s aching where the knife is

It’s given like a prize,

It’s job well done!

We acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which Woroni, Woroni Radio and Woroni TV are created, edited, published, printed and distributed. We pay our respects to Elders past and present. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.