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Since Christmas they have lived with us,
Guileless and clear,
Oval soul-animals,
Taking up half the space,
Moving and rubbing on the silk
Invisible air drifts,
Giving a shriek and pop
When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling.
Yellow cathead, blue fish ----
Such queer moons we live with
Instead of dead furniture!
Straw mats, white walls
And these traveling
Globes of thin air, red, green,
Delighting
The heart like wishes or free
Peacocks blessing
Old ground with a feather
Beaten in starry metals.
Your small
Brother is making
His balloon squeak like a cat.
Seeming to see
A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it,
He bites,
Then sits
Back, fat jug
Contemplating a world clear as water.
A red
Shred in his little fist.
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Comments
An odd quality in this poem is the airy effect given by the use of enjambments and incomplete thoughts in each line. It is as if the poem itself were a balloon. This poem seems to reflect a common theme in Plath's poetry: the loss of innocence, which is marked by the popping of the balloon in the second to last stanza. Out of curiosity, the baby bites into it and the balloon pops, and all that remains is "A red/ Shred in his little fist". The use of alliteration and onomatopoeia also enhances the balloon quality of this poem. The fact that a balloon is filled with air makes it seem that such innocence is substance-less and therefor superficial. I believe that this poem represents how temporary childhood is.
Adeeba from United States