<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345383" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elizabeth Gone</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You lay in the nest of your real death,<br>Beyond the print of my nervous fingers<br>Where they touched your moving head;<br>Your old skin puckering, your lungs' breath<br>Grown baby short as you looked up last<br>At my face swinging over the human bed,<br>And somewhere you cried, let me go let me go.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You lay in the crate of your last death,<br>But were not you, not finally you.<br>They have stuffed her cheeks, I said;<br>This clay hand, this mask of Elizabeth<br>Are not true. From within the satin<br>And the suede of this inhuman bed,<br>Something cried, let me go let me go.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">2.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They gave me your ash and bony shells,<br>Rattling like gourds in the cardboard urn,<br>Rattling like stones that their oven had blest.<br>I waited you in the cathedral of spells<br>And I waited you in the country of the living,<br>Still with the urn crooned to my breast,<br>When something cried, let me go let me go.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I threw out your last bony shells<br>And heard me scream for the look of you,<br>Your apple face, the simple creche<br>Of your arms, the August smells<br>Of your skin. Then I sorted your clothes<br>And the loves you had left, Elizabeth,<br>Elizabeth, until you were gone.</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=345383" data-title="Elizabeth Gone de Anne Sexton" data-description="1. You lay in the nest of your real death, Beyond the print of my nervous fingers Where they touched your moving head; Your old skin puckering, your lungs' breath Grown baby short as you looked up last At my face swinging over the human bed, And ..."></div> </div> </div>

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