Every woman adores a Fascist,

The boot in the face, the brute

Brute heart of a brute like you.

O love, how did you get here?
O embryo

Remembering, even in sleep
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean

In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.

In that poem, she also vented anger at poet Ted Hughes, the husband who abandoned her and blamed her recurrent depression on her Oedipal obsession with her father.