Gone, I say and also walk from church,refmaking use of the stiff procession to the grave,letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.It is June. I am tired of being brave.
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We drive to the Cape. I cultivatemyself where the sun gutters from the skies,where the sea swings in favor an iron gateand also we touch. In an additional nation human being die.
My darling, the wind falls in like stonesfrom the whitehearted water and also when we touchwe enter touch totally. No one"s alone.Men kill for this, or for as much.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoesin their rock boats. They are more choose stonethan the sea would be if it quit. They refuseto be blessed, throat, eye and also knucklebone.
Anne Sexton was born Anne Gray Harvey in Newton, Massachusetts, on November 9, 1928. She recieved the 1967 Pulitzer Prize in poetry for her third arsenal, Live or Die (Houghton Mifflin, 1966). She taught at Boston University and at Colgate University, and also passed away on October 4, 1974, in Weston, Massachusetts.
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Stylishly, in the white seachild,we come here wearing awkward logboy our feet, to skate on icebergs,to ride pulleys into the skyand also ride the skies down.
We ride the skies dvery own,our voices falling back behind us,unraveling prefer smooth threads.Say, I am the air I break; or say,I am a spool unwinding.
I am the spool that unwoundwhile riding the sky down, that waitscurrently to ride the sheave ago into the skies,that comes right here, stylishly,each weekend, for the very same trickin the white seakid.
I have gone out, a possessed witch,haunting the babsence air, braver at night;dreaming evil, I have actually done my hitcfloat the simple homes, light by light:lonely point, twelve-fingered, out of mind.A woguy choose that is not a womale, fairly.I have actually been her sort.
I have actually uncovered the warm caves in the woods,filled them through skillets, carvings, shelves,closets, silks, innumerable goods;addressed the suppers for the worms and also the elves:whining, rearvarying the disaligned.A woman favor that is misinterpreted.I have actually been her type.
I have actually ridden in your cart, driver,waved my nude arms at villperiods going by,discovering the last bbest courses, survivorwright here your flames still bite my thighand my ribs crack wbelow your wheels wind.A womale favor that is not ashamed to die.I have actually been her sort.
Wanting to Die
Since you ask, a lot of days I cannot remember.I walk in my clothing, unnoted by that trip.Then the nearly unnameable lust retransforms.
Even then I have actually nothing versus life.I understand well the grass knives you mention,the furniture you have actually inserted under the sun.
But suicides have a special language.Like carpenters they want to recognize which tools.They never before ask why construct.
Twice I have actually so simply asserted myself,have possessed the adversary, consumed the foe,have actually taken on his craft, his magic.
In this means, hefty and thoughtful,warmer than oil or water,I have actually rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.
I did not think of my body at needle point.Even the cornea and also the leftover urine were gone.Suicides have actually already betrayed the body.
Still-born, they don"t constantly die,but dazzled, they can not forget a drug so sweetthat even youngsters would look on and smile.
To thrust all that life under your tongue!--that, all by itself, becomes a passion.Death"s a sad Bone; bruised, you"d say,
and yet she waits for me, year after year,to so delicately unexecute an old wound,to empty my breath from its poor priboy.
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Balanced there, suicides sometimes accomplish,raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,leaving the breview they mistook for a kiss,
leaving the page of the book carelessly open up,something unsassist, the phone off the hookand also the love, whatever before it was, an infection.