"I have known her kind"
for Anne Sexton
You can see it behind her eyes,
the lightning glint, inviolate–-slashing
negative space between you sharp.
Touched with glee, you can ask
her anything; tongue lets slip her
secret flood-rush from the safehouse.
Days later, you see her in the street:
sulking, mangy kitten–-kicked clear
out of school or work or love.
She’s given up her last, best secret;
dragged midnight to the town square, left
screaming riven mad. Whore-bare.
-MAS, 4/1/2008
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