Reading Plath in the Bathtub

The tub exists behind our back / its glittering surfaces are blank and true.
-Sylvia Plath, “Tale of a Tub”

Baby-pink razor suction-cupped to the wall
of linoleum above my head, I close
my eyes and pretend I am soaking in
sparkling porcelain. I wish clawed feet,

metal and steady, were beneath me. I wish
the water was deep enough to submerge
myself. Instead, it laps around my stomach.
My hips are wedged tightly against the bleached

plastic. What kind of tub did Sylvia soak in?
I imagine a vast tide of shimmer, a steamed
room, red velvet towels perched
like rooks next to a ceramic sink. I open

my eyes and put her blue words on the toilet
seat. I sink into myself, stare up
at the showerhead. Its underbelly is cracked
down the middle.

We never notice things until they are split open.

Sadie Shuck Hinkel is a writer from the Midwest. Her work has been featured in Yes Poetry, Ghost City Review, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. Her poetry chapbook Midwest Pop was published in 2020 by Dancing Girl Press. Her work has been nominated for Best of the Net, and she lives in Omaha with her husband and two cats.