Πέμπτη, 15 Αυγούστου 2013

Anna Who Was Mad - Anne Sexton

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. 
Take me the gangling twelve-year-old 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 sins 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.