Her bare
Feet seem to be saying:
We have come so far, it is over.
Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little
Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded
Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden
Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.
The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.
She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.
A possible allusion to motherhood, this new feminist-hood that has only the bones, or the framework, to create life, but rejects it. 
 The “hood of bone” could also be a reference to  Adam’s rib , in Genesis 2:18-24, where God was said to have created woman out of man, to be man’s  “help meet” . This has been taken in a patriarchal world to “prove” woman’s place as subservient,  — a cause for justified feminist anger. 
 The moon in many cultures including  Greek and Roman mythology , is identified with the female gender. Plath refers to this in  “The Moon and the Yew Tree” , and  “Rival” . 

Edge