June 6th, 2008

poetry, exceptindreams

220: The Truth the Dead Know

“The Truth the Dead Know”
Anne Sexton

For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959

Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.

We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.

My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.




Also, in an attempt to make these posts in a more regular fashion and to ensure that poetry is posted when I do not have access to a computer (e.g. summer camp), I'm going to switch to a Plus account. A Plus or Paid account allows me to email my posts, and I have a scheduled email program. The advertising should be temporary until August when I return. I apologize.