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Poem Two in a Series: "Anne"
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Poem Two in a Series: "Anne" Anna who was mad, I have a knife in my armpit. When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages. Am I some sort of infection? Did I make you go insane? Did I make the sounds go sour? Did I tell you to climb out the window? Forgive. Forgive. Say not I did. Say not. Say. Speak Mary-words into our pillow. into your sunken lap. Whisper like a buttercup. Eat me. Eat me up like cream pudding. Take me in. Take me. Take. Give me a report on the condition of my soul. Give me a complete statement of my actions. Hand me a jack-in-the-pulpit and let me listen in. Put me in the stirrups and bring a tour group through. Number my<b> sins </font></b>on the grocery list and let me buy. Did I make you go insane? Did I turn up your earphone and let a siren drive through? Did I open the door for the mustached psychiatrist who dragged you out like a gold cart? Did I make you go insane? From the grave write me, Anna! You are nothing but ashes but nevertheless pick up the Parker Pen I gave you. Write me. Write. "Anna Who Was Mad" by Anne Sexton ------------ She climbed outcropped slime Rocks, crush barnacle Grind – the smell of saline Bracken – twisting Pods of green gently pop Algeria slick, claw crab stank Drained brine silently out But sand dunes whisper The blowing of some reeds Roughly gripped shore The song of her babies Sucking rose hip nipple Not far from where she was born A cadence echo of Pilgrims, and Girls who don’t – and girls who did Clank rickety progression Those who returned from The Great War and made peace by digging holes in backyard soil What might some say about the fields and the Way she spoke of bleeding with frankness? Comparisons and unspoken Fierce boil broken Crossing one’s legs The ankles shows breeding How to howl with a vial of ink, How to spread How to splice and dive, flocking Plovers or sandpipers – widening Her chest open like a surgeon – Leveraging pain What it felt like to be – To be boiled alive, to be Little necks, dripping oily scars Sunset again and again vivid Raw red red purple magenta flame Battling her whole life, Her whole self, she lost. -Mariana Trench       |
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