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DADDY – Poetry, by Sylvia Plath

DADDY.1.1DADDYYou do not do, you do not do any more, black shoe in which I have lived like a foot for thirty years, poor and white, barely daring to breathe or Achoo. Daddy, I have had to kill you. You died before I had time. Marble-heavy, a bag full of God, ghastly statue with one gray toe, big as a Frisco seal, and a head in the freakish Atlantic, where it pours bean green over blue, in the waters off beautiful Nauset. I used to pray to recover you. Ach, du.

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