Monday, October 5

Small Wire

by Anne Sexton

My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider
hang her baby on a thin web,
as doth the vine,
twiggy and wooden,
hold up grapes
like eyeballs,
as many angels
dance on the head of a pin.

God does not need
too much wire to keep Him there,
just a thin vein,
with blood pushing back and forth in it,
and some love.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
So if you have only a thin wire,
God does not mind.
He will enter your hands
as easily as ten cents used to
bring forth a Coke.

Anne Sexton was one of the first poets I ever fell in love with. She is very raw. Her words, real. People like to compair her to Syvlia Plath. They have simlar biographies to be sure, but I think it does both of their works a diservice. To dwell on their biographies is to somehow trivialize their words. It makes it easy to ignore truths that make us uncomferatble.

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