<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345367" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Christmas Eve</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh sharp diamond, my mother! <br>I could not count the cost <br>of all your faces, your moods- <br>that present that I lost. <br>Sweet girl, my deathbed, <br>my jewel-fingered lady, <br>your portrait flickered all night <br>by the bulbs of the tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your face as calm as the moon <br>over a mannered sea, <br>presided at the family reunion, <br>the twelve grandchildren <br>you used to wear on your wrist, <br>a three-months-old baby, <br>a fat check you never wrote, <br>the red-haired toddler who danced the twist, <br>your aging daughters, each one a wife, <br>each one talking to the family cook, <br>each one avoiding your portrait, <br>each one aping your life. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Later, after the party, <br>after the house went to bed, <br>I sat up drinking the Christmas brandy, <br>watching your picture, <br>letting the tree move in and out of focus. <br>The bulbs vibrated. <br>They were a halo over your forehead. <br>Then they were a beehive, <br>blue, yellow, green, red; <br>each with its own juice, each hot and alive <br>stinging your face. But you did not move. <br>I continued to watch, forcing myself, <br>waiting, inexhaustible, thirty-five. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I wanted your eyes, like the shadows <br>of two small birds, to change. <br>But they did not age. <br>The smile that gathered me in, all wit, <br>all charm, was invincible. <br>Hour after hour I looked at your face <br>but I could not pull the roots out of it. <br>Then I watched how the sun hit your red sweater, your withered neck, <br>your badly painted flesh-pink skin. <br>You who led me by the nose, I saw you as you were. <br>Then I thought of your body <br>as one thinks of murder- </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I said Mary- <br>Mary, Mary, forgive me <br>and then I touched a present for the child, <br>the last I bred before your death; <br>and then I touched my breast <br>and then I touched the floor <br>and then my breast again as if, <br>somehow, it were one of yours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Sexton">Anne Sexton</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345367" data-title="Christmas Eve de Anne Sexton" data-description="Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods- that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady, your portrait flickered all night by the bulbs of the tree. Your face as cal..."></div> </div> </div>

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