Sylvia Plath

Kindness ~ A Poem by Sylvia Plath

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When Kindness Enters the Room: Discovering Grace in Sylvia Plath’s “Kindness”

Kindness in Sylvia Plath’s poem is not sentimental—it is powerful, unsettling, and quietly transformative, arriving like steam from a cup of tea while life pulses uncontrollably onward.

Kindness

Sylvia Plath

Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is so nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.

What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit’s cry may be wilder
But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice.

O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anesthetized.

And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.

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Reflection

Sylvia Plath’s Kindness reveals gentleness not as weakness, but as a steady presence amid emotional intensity. Kindness glides through the poem like a calm figure moving through chaos—offering sugar, tea, and care while the “blood jet” of poetry surges onward. Plath shows us that life’s pain and beauty are inseparable, and kindness does not stop the flow; it steadies us within it. The images of children and roses suggest that kindness restores what feels fractured, returning us to what matters most. In moments when emotions overwhelm, kindness becomes the quiet force that gathers the pieces and helps us keep going.

Reader Question

As you read this poem, ask yourself:

Where have you experienced kindness not as comfort alone, but as strength that helped you endure or transform a difficult moment?

Today’s Poem: Kindness by Sylvia Plath

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Kindness

Sylvia Plath

Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is so nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.

What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit’s cry may be wilder
But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice.

O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anesthetized.

And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.

Source

Today’s Poem: Morning Song by Sylvia Plath

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Morning Song

Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.

Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival.  New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety.  We stand round blankly as walls.

I’m no more your mother
Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow
Effacement at the wind’s hand.

All night your moth-breath
Flickers among the flat pink roses.  I wake to listen:
A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral
In my Victorian nightgown.
Your mouth opens clean as a cat’s.  The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars.  And now you try
Your handful of notes;
The clear vowels rise like balloons.

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