Meeting Anne Sexton

I am overwhelmed at times by the amount of information on the wide world web from opinions, polls, pictures, theories and what have you. I came across an article of 65 books you should read in your twenties. The list is kind of fitting since I’m meeting my third decade mark. A few books I’ve read on this list, but a lot more that seemed like a good read that one day I will get to.

One writer I decided to check out was Anne Sexton, a native of Massachusetts. If I like Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath then why wouldn’t I like Anne Sexton too? 45 Mercy Street is the poem I chose to read. I liked the last part as I too get lost in thought. Sometimes I feel I’m living in a dream, then to wake up and realize it was just that: a dream.

I open my pocketbook,
as women do,
and fish swim back and forth
between the dollars and the lipstick.
I pick them out,
one by one
and throw them at the street signs,
and shoot my pocketbook
into the Charles River.
Next I pull the dream off
and slam into the cement wall
of the clumsy calendar
I live in,
my life,
and its hauled up