Incommunicado

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The groundhog on the mountain did not runBut fatly scuttled into the splayed fernAnd faced me, back to a ledge of dirt, to rattleHer sallow rodent teeth like castanetsAgainst my leaning down, would not exchangeFor that wary clatter sound or gestur...

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The groundhog on the mountain did not run
But fatly scuttled into the splayed fern
And faced me, back to a ledge of dirt, to rattle
Her sallow rodent teeth like castanets
Against my leaning down, would not exchange
For that wary clatter sound or gesture
Of love : claws braced, at bay, my currency not hers.

Such meetings never occur in marchen
Where love-met groundhogs love one in return,
Where straight talk is the rule, whether warm or hostile,
Which no gruff animal misinterprets.
From what grace am I fallen. Tongues are strange,
Signs say nothing. The falcon who spoke clear
To Canacee cries gibberish to coarsened ears.

 The falcon who spoke clearTo Canacee cries gibberish to coarsened ears

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Sylvia Plath PoetryWhere stories live. Discover now