Confession
It’s something I’m not supposed to say, so I’ll say it: I have some of Sylvia Plath’s hair. In 2009, when I was doing research in the Plath archive at the Lilly Library at Indiana University, I met K., a local scholar. We became friendly. K. had been doing Plath research for many years. An abundance of Plath hair is cataloged in the archive: locks of baby hair, teenage ponytails, tresses, amber braids. Plath’s mother saved everything. One night at dinner I confessed to K. that I’d been tempted to steal a few strands of Plath’s baby hair, but decided against it. Just the thought made my hands shake. K. freely admitted that, in the days before the library had security cameras, she stole some of it. “I’ll give you…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, May/June 2019