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• sylvia plath'in ariel'inde yer alan şiiri.
  
  what a thrill ---
  my thumb instead of an onion.
  the top quite gone
  except for a sort of a hinge
  
  of skin,
  a flap like a hat,
  dead white.
  then that red plush.
  
  little pilgrim,
  the indian's axed your scalp.
  your turkey wattle
  carpet rolls
  
  straight from the heart.
  i step on it,
  clutching my bottle
  of pink fizz.
  
  a celebration, this is.
  out of a gap
  a million soldiers run,
  redcoats, every one.
  
  whose side are they on?
  o my
  homunculus, i am ill.
  i have taken a pill to kill
  
  the thin
  papery feeling.
  saboteur,
  kamikaze man ---
  
  the stain on your
  gauze ku klux klan
  babushka
  darkens and tarnishes and when
  
  the balled
  pulp of your heart
  confronts its small
  mill of silence
  
  how you jump ---
  trepanned veteran,
  dirty girl,
  thumb stump.