I’ve been thinking about this little syllabic by Sylvia Plath, a riddle of nine lines, each with nine syllables:
I’m a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf’s big with its yeasty rising.
Money’s new-minted in this fat purse.
I’m a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I’ve eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there’s no getting off.
Did you get it?
3 thoughts on “Monday poem”
Is she referring to herself, pregnant? I really don’t know how to solve riddles, but that is the picture that appeared in my head, my melon.
Write and tell me what the riddle, solved, is please.
Oh and thank you very much indeed for the postcard, so rare these days. I recognized your penmanship before I even got to the gooodbye! It felt good to identify it so quickly.
I was thinking pregnant, too! But that’s not nine syllables…
Yes, she’s pregnant, you both got it. The nine lines, nine syllables each reflect the nine months!