by Anne Sexton
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
Posted in celebration of National Poetry Month.
Oooh, have you ever heard a recording of her reading that poem? She has such a fantastic, gravelly voice, it's an experience to listen to her. My sister used to have an mp3 of it, I should email her and see if she'll send it over...
Posted by: Jill | 03 April 2006 at 00:18
It's at the link here:
http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15297
Posted by: Roxanne | 03 April 2006 at 01:18
The voice is really deep and gravelly fantastic.
Posted by: Robert Bohm | 23 May 2006 at 17:59