What The Mirror Said

This week we read ” Mirror ,” in which Sylvia Plath turns the poem itself into a mirror, and deploys her sniper-like precision, as always. Continuing our discussion of identity, we wondered about what the objects in our homes might have to say about us. Read on! Ms. Asvos 7th Grade Emily P. Wall I am slightly cracked from being here so long my skin chipping in the corners and along the bottom. I am leaned against and bumped into painted and prettied over and over again I am a protector against storms and cold and wild things. On the inside I have many tangled wires and beams. Sometimes I hear new people and they lean on me, too. Things are hung on me and nails are driving through. And sometimes they fall off. I am an object of abuse, being hit when something goes wrong but I get my revenge, hitting funny bones and stubbing toes. But I am strong And I will stand. Lamp Celina D. I am shiny, and sometimes soft I show the dark and bright It is part of, To throw out the light sometimes or break I am pink, or sometimes blue, with beads and lots of sparkles Day after day, When I’m on, I can see everything from the quiet to the loud, and the happy to the proud. Vase Denita H. I am small and slender. I carry flowers I sit on top of a glass plate No one notices me only what I hold I have no name might as well be unknown I see people walk past me Other times I stare at the door I hear the voice of the door as it opens I always wait for the time of day When the lady changes my flowers Now am the ground. Lady walk on me I am irrelevant to the lady who walks upon me The lady walks without a care in teh world She comes and goes She awards me by watering me I am important to the flowers Each morning the same lady comes and sits In me the new flowers grow Growing and growing because of the lady Window Louis S. I am there but not there Everyday I see the world I am the portal between in and out Never do I know if I am being looked at, or if its what’s past me that gets the attention. The more people use me, The harder it gets to see Through finger prints, scratches, and debris Sometimes, I am sad to say, I feel neglected And rejected at night They throw curtains and shades in my way It just doesn’t feel right! I can’t wait until the next sunny day.