Anne Sexton's Last Letter to God

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by kindtosnails, Feb 11, 2007.

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  1. kindtosnails

    kindtosnails Staff Alumni

    This is the last letter I will write
    sitting at my kitchen table
    with the blue coffee mug
    at my elbow and the pot
    roasting each bean to perfection:
    faraway continents
    in my cluttered suburban kitchen.
    The sun is sharp through the blinds,
    crisscrossing the kitchen's
    clean tiles with yellow and white.
    I walk a knife-edge of light.
    This is the last letter I will write.

    I have been a witch, clothed in rags
    and shrieking. I have borrowed
    the wings of angels and given them back:
    a poor fit, and yes, like Icarus
    I had no sense and i didn't much like
    falling back to earth. I have had lovers
    by the dozen, some poets and others
    and a faithful husband that I left
    in the end. I have written painfully evocative
    letters from Europe and many poems,
    but this is the last letter i will write.

    God is in your typewriter, an old priest said
    and I wanted a father so badly, that for months
    I believed him, transfixed by small miracles
    and clutching my golden crucifix
    on my knees by the empty bed. Lately

    I have given a few well-received readings
    in my high heels and my favourite red dress,
    the posters that displayed me in defiant pose.
    I was always dramatic with my husky voice,
    my fingers curled around a cigarette
    and the ending always upbeat.

    I have just lunched with an old friend
    saying goodbye and something
    "she coudln't quite catch".

    Now I have locked the front door behind me,
    squinting a little as autumn spills down
    from the skies and the trees. Here
    is a small miracle and I am walking away.
    I wrap my mother's fur coat
    tightly around me, although I have
    no need of its warmth today. the sun
    is a cat stroking my neck, winding itself
    contentedly around my long, slender legs.
    I pause by the garage door to admire
    the autumn leaves in their sourball colours.

    A drink is in order. A double.
    A toast to old friends, to those
    on the other end of the phone and to those
    who for one reason or another
    have abandoned me. I pull the car door
    closed and turn the key.
    This, God, is my journey.
    I have cut the lines
    between us: no more tantrums.
    No more poems. I am not
    your daughter, your mother, your lover.
    No more letters then, from me to you, God
    and it amuses me to think of your
    impotent displeasure as I settle myself
    comfortably into the driver's seat.

    -Tracey Herd​
     
  2. ~CazzaAngel~

    ~CazzaAngel~ Staff Alumni

    wow - :eek:hmy:




    Thank you for sharing that with us hun. You are always to thoughtful. :) :hug:
     
  3. ybt

    ybt Guest

    you know, i'm not patronising you, but that. was. incredible.
     
  4. kindtosnails

    kindtosnails Staff Alumni

    Eek I didn't write it. Wish I did. Tracey Herd did...see..

    But I agree, 'tis incredible.
     
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