Anne Sexton

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

The Fury Of Overshoes - Poem by Anne Sexton

They sit in a row
outside the kindergarten,
black, red, brown, all
with those brass buckles.
Remember when you couldn't
buckle your own
overshoe
or tie your own
overshoe
or tie your own shoe
or cut your own meat
and the tears
running down like mud
because you fell off your
tricycle?
Remember, big fish,
when you couldn't swim
and simply slipped under
like a stone frog?
The world wasn't
yours.
It belonged to
the big people.
Under your bed
sat the wolf
and he made a shadow
when cars passed by
at night.
They made you give up
your nightlight
and your teddy
and your thumb.
Oh overshoes,
don't you
remember me,
pushing you up and down
in the winter snow?
Oh thumb,
I want a drink,
it is dark,
where are the big people,
when will I get there,
taking giant steps
all day,
each day
and thinking
nothing of it?


Comments about The Fury Of Overshoes by Anne Sexton

  • Anil Kumar Panda (9/28/2017 10:13:00 AM)


    Marvelous poetry. Like to read again again. Thanks for sharing. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 29, 2010

Poem Edited: Wednesday, March 23, 2011


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