Something
cold is in the air,
an aura of ice
and phlegm.
All day I've built
a lifetime and now
the sun sinks to
undo it.
The horizon bleeds
and sucks its thumb.
The little red thumb
goes out of sight.
And I wonder about
this lifetime with myself,
this dream I'm living.
I could eat the sky
like an apple
but I'd rather
ask the first star:
why am I here?
why do I live in this house?
who's responsible?
eh?
A very surreal meditation on life; courtesty of Anne Sexton.
This is Sexton's beautiful capturing of the dusking sky and the sucking thinb and desire to eat the sky...this is really beautiful.
" Why do i live in this house? " Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Very interesting poem. Loved to read it. Thanks for sharing.
Meaning of life... a mute question... I hope heaven can answer.. lovely poem...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I could eat the sky like an apple /// wonderfully said; part of surrealism!