Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Imitations of Drowning (Excerpt)
Who listens to dreams? Only symbols for something -
like money for the analyst or your mother's wig,
the arm I almost lost in the washroom wringer,
following fear to its core, tugging the old string.
But real drowning is for someone else. It's too big
to put in your mouth on purpose, it puts hot stingers
in your tongue and vomit in your nose as your lungs break.
Tossed like a wet dog by that juggler, you die awake.
pumps me around and around
until I fade slowly
and the crowd laughs.
Anne Sexton (November 9, 1928 – October 4, 1974)