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(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974 / Newton, Massachusetts)

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The Kiss

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
and see - Now it's shot full of these electric bolts.
Zing! A resurrection!

Once it was a boat, quite wooden
and with no business, no salt water under it
and in need of some paint. It was no more
than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her.
She's been elected.

My nerves are turned on. I hear them like
musical instruments. Where there was silence
the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this.
Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped
into fire.

Submitted: Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Edited: Wednesday, August 11, 2010


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Comments about this poem (August 8th by Anne Sexton )

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  • john tiong chunghoo (9/12/2006 4:32:00 AM)

    yes, god is more than a genius to have made you woman.

    2 person liked.
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