"You're" by Sylvia Plath

You're

Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fool's Day.
O high-riser, my little loaf.

Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bug and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Junpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.

I love the poetry of Sylvia Plath - and this is one of my favourites. I found an old pic. of my daughter in this crazy jumper she used to love and I couldn't resist sketching it. It reminded me of this poem...each child born unto themselves from the start.