Again and Again and Again
You said the anger would come back just as the love did.
I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.
There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it and I have placed you and your child at its milk tip.
Oh the blackness is murderous and the milk tip is brimming and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.
By Ann Sexton
Anne Sexton was a confessional poet who knew how to mine the unconscious for art. She wrote striking poems in parallel with her analysis. She believed that redemption was found through sharing her pain through poetry. It was a brave decision, taken by her daughters and former psychiatrist, to make her therapy tapes available to her biographer, Diane Middlebrook. Could it be that the revelations of this poet of the heart could redeem us too?