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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345389" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>For the Year of the Insane</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A prayer</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Mary, fragile mother, <br>hear me, hear me now <br>although I do not know your words. <br>The black rosary with its silver Christ <br>lies unblessed in my hand <br>for I am the unbeliever. <br>Each bead is round and hard between my fingers, <br>a small black angel. <br>O Mary, permit me this grace, <br>this crossing over, <br>although I am ugly, <br>submerged in my own past <br>and my own madness. <br>Although there are chairs <br>I lie on the floor. <br>Only my hands are alive, <br>touching beads. <br>Word for word, I stumble. <br>A beginner, I feel your mouth touch mine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I count beads as waves, <br>hammering in upon me. <br>I am ill at their numbers, <br>sick, sick in the summer heat <br>and the window above me <br>is my only listener, my awkward being. <br>She is a large taker, a soother. <br>The giver of breath <br>she murmurs, <br>exhaling her wide lung like an enormous fish. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Closer and closer <br>comes the hour of my death <br>as I rearrange my face, grow back, <br>grow undeveloped and straight-haired. <br>All this is death. <br>In the mind there is a thin alley called death <br>and I move through it as <br>through water. <br>My body is useless. <br>It lies, curled like a dog on the carpet. <br>It has given up. <br>There are no words here except the half-learned, <br>the Hail Mary and the full of grace. <br>Now I have entered the year without words. <br>I note the queer entrance and the exact voltage. <br>Without words they exist. <br>Without words on my touch bread <br>and be handed bread <br>and make no sound. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Mary, tender physician, <br>come with powders and herbs <br>for I am in the center. <br>It is very small and the air is gray <br>as in a steam house. <br>I am handed wine as a child is handed milk. <br>It is presented in a delicate glass <br>with a round bowl and a thin lip. <br>The wine itself is pitch-colored, musty and secret. <br>The glass rises in its own toward my mouth <br>and I notice this and understand this <br>only because it has happened. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have this fear of coughing <br>but I do not speak, <br>a fear of rain, a fear of the horseman <br>who comes riding into my mouth. <br>The glass tilts in on its own <br>and I amon fire. <br>I see two thin streaks burn down my chin. <br>I see myself as one would see another. <br>I have been cut int two. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Mary, open your eyelids. <br>I am in the domain of silence, <br>the kingdom of the crazy and the sleeper. <br>There is blood here. <br>and I haven't eaten it. <br>O mother of the womb, <br>did I come for blood alone? <br>O little mother, <br>I am in my own mind. <br>I am locked in the wrong house.</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>
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<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=345389" data-title="For the Year of the Insane de Anne Sexton" data-description="A prayer

O Mary, fragile mother, 
hear me, hear me now 
although I do not know your words. 
The black rosary with its silver Christ 
lies unblessed in my hand 
for I am the unbeliever. 
Each bead is round and hard between my fingers, 
a small bla..."></div>
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