#Americans #Suicide #Women #XXCentury
Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out. No bigger than a two—year—old whom you’d call lamb chop
Husband, last night I dreamt they cut off your hands and feet. Husband, you whispered to me,
They come on to my clean sheet of paper and leave a Rorscha… They do not do this to be mean, they do it to give me a sign they want me, as Aubrey Beardsley…
Surely I will be disquieted by the hospital, that body zone— bodies wrapped in elastic bands, bodies cased in wood or used like… bodies crucified up onto their cru…
Herbs, garlic, cheese, please let me in! Souffles, salad, Parker House rolls, please let me in!
Gone, I say and walk from church, refusing the stiff procession to t… letting the dead ride alone in the… It is June. I am tired of being b… We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
Over stone walls and barns, miles from the black—eyed Susans, over circus tents and moon rockets you are going, going. You who have inhabited me
Linda, you are leaving your old body now, It lies flat, an old butterfly, all arm, all leg, all wing, loose as an old dress.
Well, death’s been here for a long time — it has a hell of a lot to do with hell and suspicion of the eye
It is half winter, half spring, and Barbara and I are standing confronting the ocean. Its mouth is open very wide, and it has dug up its green,
They work with herbs and penicillin They work with gentleness and the scalpel. They dig out the cancer,
We are born with luck which is to say with gold in our m… As new and smooth as a grape, as pure as a pond in Alaska, as good as the stem of a green bea…
Who is he? A railroad track toward hell? Breaking like a stick of furniture… The hope that suddenly overflows t… The love that goes down the drain…
I am surprised to see that the ocean is still going on. Now I am going back and I have ripped my hand from your hand as I said I would
And I solemnly swear on the chill of secrecy that I know you not, this room nev… the swollen dress I wear, nor the anonymous spoons that free…