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Found Poetry 803


crowds chattering like scissors cutting
food and spirits spread out on gold tables
shoes slide along the flower path in the courtyard grass
I'm one of the servants, so I'm mouthless
being invisible is maddening
I arc a smile here and there
and put the knives back in a neat line

This poem was created from Sylvia Plath's collected works. Click here to get a book of Plath's poems.

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