glorycloud's Diaryland Diary

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Anne Sexton

It is 11:48 AM late Monday morning in the flow of Existence. I am home from going downtown for a mocha and some clean air. I did stop at the Full Circle to say hello to Carl and I did pick up the new Neko Case CD "Middle Cyclone". On the way home I stopped at the local public library (Herrick District Library) to see if they had the poems of Anne Sexton. I checked out of the library a book titled "The Complete Poems " by Anne Sexton foreword by Maxine Kumin. I checked out the library's used book room and found a book titled "The Dark Valley: A Panorma of the 1930's" by Piers Brendon to add to my book collection. (I am a book collector).

Now I am home but feeling restless. I also should eat some food since I have not eaten anything today. Well I did have at Lemonjello's a cinnamon muffin.

Outside it is 18 degrees this morning, but the sun is shining.

I suppose today I will stay home since I hate going out into the world during the afternoon hours. I still might take a walk in the woods inspite of the cold air. I will sit someplace peaceful and read "The Complete Poems" by Anne Sexton. I will recite a poem by Sexton---

IN CELEBRATION OF MY UTERUS

Everyone in me is a bird.
I am beating all my wings.
They wanted to cut you out
but they will not.
They said you were immeasurably empty
but you are not.
They said you were sick unto dying
but they were wrong.

You are singing like a school girl.
You are not torn.

Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
and of the soul of the woman I am
and of the central creature and its delight
I sing for you. I dare to live.
Hello, spirit. Hello, cup.
Fasten, cover. Cover that does contain.
Hello to the soil of the fields.
Welcome, roots.

Each cell has a life.
There is enough here to please a nation.
It is enough that the populace own these goods.
Any person, any commonwealth would say of it,
"It is good this year that we may plant again
and think forward to a harvest.
A blight had been forecast and has been cast out."
Many women are singing together of this:
one is in a shoe factory cursing the machine,
one is at the aquarium tending a seal,
one is dull at the wheel of her Ford,
one is at the toll gate collecting,
one is tying the cord of a calf in Arizona,
one is straddling a cello in Russia,
one is shifting pots on the stove in Egypt,
one is painting her bedroom walls moon color,
one is dying but remembering a breakfast,
one is stretching on her mat in Thailand,
one is wiping the ass of her child,
one is staring out the window of a train
in the middle of Wyoming and one is
anywhere and sone are everywhere and all
seem to be singing, although some can not
sing a note.

Sweet weight,
in celebration of the woman I am
let me carry a ten-foot scarf,
let me drum for the nineteen-year olds,
let me carry bowls for the offering
(if that is my part).
Let me study the cardiovascular tissue,
let me examine the angular distance of meteors,
let me suck on the stems of flowers
(if that is my part).
Let me make certain tribal figures
(if that is my part).
For this thing the body needs
let me sing
for the supper,
for the kissing,
for the correct
yes.

music: Granddaddy "Under The Western Freeway"

12:30 p.m. - 2009-03-02

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