And I solemnly swear
on the chill of secrecy
that I know you not, this room never,
the swollen dress I wear,
nor the anonymous spoons that free me,
nor this calendar nor the pulse we pare and cover.
For all these present,
before that wandering ghost,
that yellow moth of my summer bed,
I say: this small event
is not. So I prepare, am dosed
in ether and will not cry what stays unsaid.
I was brown with August,
the clapping waves at my thighs
and a storm riding into the cove. We swam
while the others beached and burst
for their boarded huts, their hale cries
shouting back to us and the hollow slam
of the dory against the float.
Black arms of thunder strapped
upon us, squalled out, we breathed in rain
and stroked past the boat.
We thrashed for shore as if we were trapped
in green and that suddenly inadequate stain
of lightning belling around
our skin. Bodies in air
we raced for the empty lobsterman-shack.
It was yellow inside, the sound
of the underwing of the sun. I swear,
I most solemnly swear, on all the bric-a-brac
of summer loves, I know
Anne Sexton's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Exorcists 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
- Prayer and love, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Not to be in surplus, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Meteors, Ronald Chapman
- Volunteers, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -39, Ronjoy Brahma
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -40, Ronjoy Brahma
- Evolution, Is It Poetry
- New Alarm Clock, Ronald Chapman
- Blue Octavo Haiku, Rachel Todd Wetzsteon
- Algonquin Afterthoughts, Rachel Todd Wetzsteon