Catching Ducks

This week, a poem by Anne Sexton called "I Remember":


By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color -- no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up our
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a purtian lady and what
I remember best is that
the door your room was
the door to mine.

Labels: poetry