Metaphor

I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.

Sylvia Plath

I spent a couple of hours in Borders today, reading books that I wasn't going to buy. I was looking through a book of Sylvia Plath poems also her personal journals (and they are quite personal*). I found this poem, worked it out, then checked that day's entry in her journal to see if I was right - and also to see her situation at the time of writing. I was right about the poem (as you probably are) - but if you think it seems a little ... negative... you're right. She wrote it on a day of frustration and disappointment.

*Is it wrong to read this kind of thing? I find it fascinating.