Poems Rethabile Likes

Yellow by Anne Sexton | Poems Rethabile Likes Yellow by Anne Sexton When they turn the sun on again I'll plant children under it, I'll light up my soul with a match and let it sing. I'll take my bones and polish them, I'll vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up, I'll feed myself spoonfuls of heat and everyone will be home playing with their wings and the planet will shudder with all those smiles and there will be no poison anywhere, no plague in the sky and there will be a mothe...

The Sign of Saturn by Sharon Olds | Poems Rethabile Likes The Sign of Saturn by Sharon Olds Sometimes my daughter looks at me with an amber black look, like my father about to pass out from disgust, and I remember she was born under the sign of Saturn, the father who ate his children. Sometimes the dark, silent back of her head reminds me of him unconscious on the couch every night, his face turned away. Sometimes I hear her talking to her brother with that coldness that passed for reason in him, that anger hardened by will, and when she rages into her room, and slams the door, I can see his vast blank back when he passed out to get away from us and lay while the bourbon turned, in his brain, to coal. Sometimes I see that coal ignite...

Her Kind by Anne Sexton | Poems Rethabile Likes Her Kind by Anne Sexton I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned. A woman like that is misunderstood. I have been her kind. ...