Water

We are fishermen in a flat scene.
All day long we are in love with water.
The fish are naked.
The fish are always awake.
They are the color of old spoons
and caramels.
The sun reaches down
but the floor is not in sight.
Only the rocks are white and green.
Who knows what goes on in the halls below?

It’s queer to meet the loon falling in
across the top of the yellow lake
like a checkered hunchback
dragging his big feet.
Only his head and neck can breathe.
He yodels.
He goes under yodeling
like the first mate
who sways all night in his hammock, calling
I have seen, I have seen.

Water is worse than woman.
It calls to a man to empty him.
Under us
twelve princesses dance all night,
exhausting their lovers, then giving them up.
I have known water.
I have sung all night
for the last cargo of boys.
I have sung all night
for the mouths that float back later,
one by one,
holding a lady’s worn out shoe.

Anne Sexton

Zum Todestag von Anne Sexton ein Gedicht der Mützenfalterin, hier:

„Sehr geehrte Frau Sexton,…“

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