Sylvia’s Ghost
The poetry of Ani Eldritch
My name is Ani Eldritch, and if I had to describe myself in a single breath — Who among us has time to condense a lifetime into syllables? — I’d tell you this: I write poetry that cuts to the bone. My words move through your skin and find a home in your ribs, as though they belong there – carved into the marrow.
Sylvia’s Ghost, my publication, is where I wield the blade. Sylvia Plath is the ghost in the room, her rhythms haunting mine, but the thoughts and words are my own.
Like Sylvia, my style is confessional. I write about life, love, the patriarchy, and whatever else gets lodged in my throat and refuses to dislodge until I’ve said it until I’ve written it out of my system.
People often think of poetry as soft and delicate; mine is neither. It’s gritty and relentless, a force of reality seen through a shattered lens.
My poetry is thought-provoking and unsettling — as if you’ve turned a corner and bumped into the most authentic version of yourself — raw, unfiltered, and terrifying.
I explore that edge in every line, pushing it, wondering if I can push harder, always knowing that I can.
Ultimately, that’s the thing: my poetry sits in your chest long after you’ve scrolled on; my words live in the small, quiet moments, whispering:
“This is who you are, Ani. This is what you came here to do.”
Ani Eldritch, 2024.
