CHECKMATE

like a ghost that hasn't made peace
with the black rooks
she lies with them
inundated by the shadows below her
one move at a time
a white queen surrenders to the rooks

when one move was not good as another
remembering the knights last move
that plumbs deep into her soul
she made a gracious bow to the audience
with abstractions without smoke or flame
moving without pawns to protect her

forgiven forgotten and unfulfilled
Plath headed for emergency exit
towards the darker intensities
and sunless depths of the sea
looking for that distant flame
she turned on the gas