Aftermath

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Compelled by calamity's magnetThey loiter and stare as if the houseBurnt-out were theirs, or as if they thoughtSome scandal might any minute oozeFrom a smoke-choked closet into light;No deaths, no prodigious injuriesGlut these hunters after an old...

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Compelled by calamity's magnet
They loiter and stare as if the house
Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought
Some scandal might any minute ooze
From a smoke-choked closet into light;
No deaths, no prodigious injuries
Glut these hunters after an old meat,
Blood-spoor of the austere tragedies.

Mother Medea in a green smock
Moves humbly as any housewife through
Her ruined apartments, taking stock
Of charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:
Cheated of the pyre and the rack,
The crowd sucks her last tear and turns away.

Mother Medea in a green smockMoves humbly as any housewife throughHer ruined apartments, taking stockOf charred shoes, the sodden upholstery:Cheated of the pyre and the rack,The crowd sucks her last tear and turns away

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Sylvia Plath PoetryWhere stories live. Discover now