Monday, September 9, 2013

Behind the eyes of Anne (A Poem)

My husband has gone,
Silence of a closed door
Grates my ears and hair
Like a swinging chapel bell.
No one else can hear the beckoning
Inside the walls of this empty house,
Our room still smelling
Of the earth in his shoes.

I am useless in my petticoats,
Raccoon-eyed and ready
To throw myself against
The soft, beating sweat lodge
Of last summer’s lover.
I long to sink the brown
Of my wanderlust toes
Into the sand of some other world.

In the next room a child cries,
She is otherworldly but she is mine,
Open ‘o’ of her lips
calling into the clouds of my white noise
like the slow pull of winter’s frustration.
I will go to her, her hair smelling of fruit
And tiny hands clutching the collars
Of invisible ghosts that haunt our hallways.

Late afternoon will fade into me,
Looking like tossed leaves and the hungry,
Coffee spilled across my chest
Like a brown-stained sundress.
I will not notice,
I will be writing, each fingertip
Pressed to the typewriter like a tiny pearl,
Cigarette dangling from my lips,
I’ll languish beneath the silver cloud tufts
They say will kill me, though it doesn’t.

Time is useless to me, though everyone
Seems hard-pressed to utilize the clock-ticks.
I do not need them, I do not need anything. 
For between the damaged goods
Of my chest cavity,
I gather my bitter pills at the doctors will,
Arthritic-ticks of my poking ribs man-handling
The mechanism of an invisible death clock,
awaiting me to strum it with my fingers.

***This poem was written from a prompt at We Write Poems.  The idea was to write in the view-point of Anne Sexton.  


  1. I am not familiar with Anne Sexton so had to look her up. Thank you for that. I love learning about poets - you have helped educate me: )

    That said, I feel my comment may be light weight but I can see how you have effectively found her voice. Certain phrases I love:Silence of a closed door, I am useless in my petticoats,slow pull of winter’s frustration... I could go on and on. Well done.

  2. Wow. Those bitter pills tell the tale, don't they? I only know a little of Anne Sexton's work, but as much as she reveals of herself in what I've read, it's as if you've peeled back another layer with your tiny yet telling details.


  3. "Our room still smelling
    Of the earth in his shoes." this is just one of many brilliant lines! This poem is so visceral and so visual you are a genius, in my mind you are already famous because you are that good =)

  4. awwwww! you are so very sweet, my friend! i do love your poems too!!


Thank you for taking the time to comment, it is so appreciated. Your thoughts and critiques are always welcome! I will be by to visit your blog soon!