I have this wonderful new book, Farewell My Lovelies, sent to me by Diann Blakely. It's a beautiful book. Diann is a huge Plath fan, and I love this poem of hers. But I have always felt a little guilty that I am not totally enamored of Plath or Sexton. They make me feel somewhere between sad and suicidal, sort of like the girl depicted here.
