Sometimes late at night
when they’re done their rounds
and I’m sure no one is listening,
I speak to Sylvia Plath:

You’ve died before I had time—
we’re much the same,
though I may be a bit more of a Jew.

I’ve chugged red pills like cheap chardonnay,
months and months of manic merlot,
the sweet taste of candy coding
lingers on the tip of my tongue
words slip like skittles down my throat
unfinished, teeth stained blue. 
And you?

Bitter, bile, better
work this time
if Dying is an art, 
like everything else,
then I have failed art for art’s sake.

The second time
I double the dosage,
abstract obstruction
redblue black
paint the whitewashed walls,
crawl under Jew linens
no space, no place,
just that bitter-sweet taste
and wait
to fade 
too black.

I have done it again.


Photo by Lucas Benjamin on Unsplash

Jennifer Greenberg

Jennifer Greenberg is a writer, editor, and aspiring scrabble champion. She recently returned to North America from Tel Aviv where she worked as Web Editor for Time Out Israel and Editor for Atmosphere magazine. Her articles have appeared in The New York Times, The Canadian Jewish News, Time Out London, Pink Pangea, Alma, Steel Chisel, In/Words Magazine & Press, The Inkwell, ByWords and Anthem.