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I re-read this in tandem with reading Heather Clark's fantastic biography, Red Comet. This is an extraordinary collection - different from what I remember from my first read, likely because I was young and the collection was the Hughes edited version that left out some of her most searing words ("Rabbit Catcher", "The Jailor"). This collection was written in a white heat toward the end of her life after Hughes had left her. Yes, some of it is a big 'ole "fuck you" to Hughes, but that doesn't take away from the genius of the words behind the fuck you. And, apart from those poems, there are those on motherhood, madness, etc. that are brilliant. "Tulips" gutted me.