Recent news this week tells the story of two twin Australian girls on visas to the U.S. this week who have apparently acted on a suicide pact and attempted suicide. One sister was successful, the other failed in her attempt.
I am in Australia this week, and a personal friend has also experienced a teen suicide, a young girl, lost in love, has committed suicide in a local high school, and they are all struggling with the grief.
Today I turn to a level of grief myself, and as I often do, I turn to poetry. Instead of writing one this time, I present to you - appropriately I think - this classic Sylvia Plath poem which happens to be about 2 sisters, and suicide (death).
As most of you know, Sylvia, herself, was successful. The world suffers because of that.
This is a deep one...
Two Sisters of Persephone
By Silvia Plath
Two girls there are : within the house
One sits; the other, without.
Daylong a duet of shade and light
Plays between these.
In her dark wainscoted room
The first works problems on
A mathematical machine.
Dry ticks mark time
As she calculates each sum.
At this barren enterprise
Rat-shrewd go her squint eyes,
Root-pale her meager frame.
Bronzed as earth, the second lies,
Hearing ticks blown gold
Like pollen on bright air. Lulled
Near a bed of poppies,
She sees how their red silk flare
Of petaled blood
Burns open to the sun's blade.
On that green alter
Freely become sun's bride, the latter
Grows quick with seed.
Grass-couched in her labor's pride,
She bears a king. Turned bitter
And sallow as any lemon,
The other, wry virgin to the last,
Goes graveward with flesh laid waste,
Worm-husbanded, yet no woman.