My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.
Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.
While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and tart,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.
~ Sylvia Plath
I can’t write as well as her. But she has described her feelings and emotions so aptly. I can appreciate that. For now that’s sufficient.
Especially the phrase where she says her expression was like the ‘sour lemon moon’.
A broken heart becomes like an immature seed which hasn’t sprout to grow into a sapling.
Guess that’s what she means by unripened heart. She calls love as a caustic wind indicating that it has made her bitter as it is unrequited most of the time.
Just absolutely loved her choice of words and imagination.
I wear the wry-faced pucker of an ineffective writer who isn’t able to bring out her best in words.