Anne Sexton Poems
|161.||The Poet Of Ignorance||3/29/2010|
|162.||The Red Dance||3/29/2010|
|163.||The Road Back||3/29/2010|
|164.||The Room Of My Life||3/29/2010|
|166.||The Starry Night||3/29/2010|
|168.||The Truth The Dead Know||6/27/2006|
|169.||The Twelve Dancing Princesses||3/29/2010|
|170.||The Waiting Head||3/29/2010|
|171.||The Wedding Ring Dance||3/29/2010|
|173.||The Witch's Life||3/29/2010|
|174.||To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Triumph||3/29/2010|
|175.||Torn Down From Glory Daily||3/29/2010|
|176.||Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward||3/29/2010|
|179.||Wanting To Die||3/29/2010|
|181.||When Man Enters Woman||3/29/2010|
|182.||Where I Live In This Honorable House Of The Laurel Tree||3/29/2010|
|183.||Where It Was At Back Then||3/29/2010|
|184.||With Mercy For The Greedy||3/29/2010|
|185.||Woman With Girdle||3/29/2010|
|187.||You, Doctor Martin||3/29/2010|
45 Mercy Street
In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
namely MERCY STREET.
I try the Back Bay.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the ...
My mouth blooms like a cut.
I've been wronged all year, tedious
nights, nothing but rough elbows in them
and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby
crybaby, you fool!
Before today my body was useless.
Now it's tearing at its square corners.
It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot