Ophelia.

Ophelia

© Wenee Yap Jan 2008.

We loved you as Ophelia.

Til you tore my careless heart

Drawn. Quartered.

Delicious.

Again.

You, for whom any passing pilgrim

Would pause to kneel

In worship

You, who despised idols.

Most of all those cast

In your graven image.

Wild like Plath

But not so doomed.

Did you hate this too –

Your silver-spoon privilege

Draped in shabby-chic

Charity bought angst

On loan from the State.

Spare me your doomed Ophelia.

You are no wayward Dylan.

You cannot unpick your shadow

From your sand-grit toes

Here, against the windswept white cliffs

Home to so many mad poets

There is only you

And I.