Some ghosts are women,
neither abstract nor pale,
their breasts as limp as killed fish.
Not witches, but ghosts
who come, moving their useless arms
like forsaken servants.
Not all ghosts are women,
I have seen others;
fat, white-bellied men,
wearing their genitals like old rags.
Not devils, but ghosts.
This one thumps barefoot, lurching
above my bed.
But that isn't all.
Some ghosts are children.
Not angels, but ghosts;
curling like pink tea cups
on any pillow, or kicking,
showing their innocent bottoms, wailing
for Lucifer.
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After all these years my children were telling the truth! When who had done this or that it was those little ghosts named "I Don't Know" and "NoT Me"!
Anne has a unique way of emasculating men, and now I understand why. If I were to wake in the middle of the night to sounds that go bump and woke to see men wearing their genitals for rags. I think I might be a litte P.O.'d too! LOL
Thank you for sharing. ~Michelle~
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Quite a revealing read, each stuck in their own little spot in time. Very sad.
thanks for the link.
Talia -
Hmmmm...wearing their genitals like old rags
I'm going to have to steal that line
Honey, come here with your rag and do some dusting
Enjoyed this one... -
The image of the old men ghosts is enough to drive away many a pleasant thought. I feel she is not speaking of ghosts at all, but those transparent issues in her own life. A child who cries "like the devil" herself after being abused, the image of a father/husband/lover worn by age, her drunken father. The image of an aged self, rendered "usless " by infirmity, or better, her mother, the aspiring writer, now turned "usless" by lack of purpose. Compelling and very rich.
Edited on Jun 08, 8:31 because ''. -
never read this poem before. It's incredible. I am not too familiar with Anne Sexton, but after reading this intend to familiarize myself. Agree with Tina the last line is gutting. The first stanza is simply perfect
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/wailing for Lucifer/ those lines are ghosts themselves. What despair...
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