Some ghosts are women,
neither abstract nor pale,
their breasts as limp as killed fish.
Not witches, but ghosts
who come, moving their useless arms
like forsaken servants.
Not all ghosts are women,
I have seen others;
fat, white-bellied men,
wearing their genitals like old rags.
Not devils, but ghosts.
This one thumps barefoot, lurching
above my bed.
But that isn't all.
Some ghosts are children.
Not angels, but ghosts;
curling like pink tea cups
on any pillow, or kicking,
showing their innocent bottoms, wailing
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Ghosts by Anne Sexton )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Jacob's Well, Liilia Talts Morrison
- A Dream Can die, asoke ray
- In Praise of Nobility (Fourteen), Rubaba Mmahajia Rahma Sabtiu
- Motionless, asoke ray
- Stated Cause, johnny case
- Copyright, Samantha Pearson
- annoying wood pigeon, lee fones
- Really very unique..., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- leave me your hands so i can learn how t.., Mandolyn Davidson
- Open Windows, Lilly Emery