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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345453" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Break</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was also my violent heart that broke,<br>falling down the front hall stairs.<br>It was also a message I never spoke,<br>calling, riser after riser, who cares</div><div style="margin:10px 0">about you, who cares, splintering up<br>the hip that was merely made of crystal,<br>the post of it and also the cup.<br>I exploded in the hallway like a pistol.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I fell apart. So I came all undone.<br>Yes. I was like a box of dog bones.<br>But now they've wrapped me in like a nun.<br>Burst like firecrackers! Held like stones!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What a feat sailing queerly like Icarus<br>until the tempest undid me and I broke.<br>The ambulance drivers made such a fuss.<br>But when I cried, 'Wait for my courage!' they smoked</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and then they placed me, tied me up on their plate,<br>and wheeled me out to their coffin, my nest.<br>Slowly the siren slowly the hearse, sedate<br>as a dowager. At the E. W. they cut off my dress.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I cried, 'Oh Jesus, help me! Oh Jesus Christ!'<br>and the nurse replied, 'Wrong name. My name<br>is Barbara,' and hung me in an odd device,<br>a buck's extension and a Balkan overhead frame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The orthopedic man declared,<br>'You'll be down for a year.' His scoop. His news.<br>He opened the skin. He scraped. He pared<br>and drilled through bone for his four-inch screws.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That takes brute strength like pushing a cow<br>up hill. I tell you, it takes skill<br>and bedside charm and all that know how.<br>The body is a damn hard thing to kill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But please don't touch or jiggle my bed.<br>I'm Ethan Frome's wife. I'll move when I'm able.<br>The T. V. hangs from the wall like a moose head.<br>I hide a pint of bourbon in my bedside table.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bird full of bones, now I'm held by a sand bag.<br>The fracture was twice. The fracture was double.<br>The days are horizontal. The days are a drag.<br>All of the skeleton in me is in trouble.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Across the hall is the bedpan station.<br>The urine and stools pass hourly by my head<br>in silver bowls. They flush in unison<br>in the autoclave. My one dozen roses are dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The have ceased to menstruate. They hang<br>there like little dried up blood clots.<br>And the heart too, that cripple, how it sang<br>once. How it thought it could call the shots!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Understand what happened the day I fell.<br>My heart had stammered and hungered at<br>a marriage feast until the angel of hell<br>turned me into the punisher, the acrobat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My bones are loose as clothespins,<br>as abandoned as dolls in a toy shop<br>and my heart, old hunger motor, with its sins<br>revved up like an engine that would not stop.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now I spend all day taking care<br>of my body, that baby. Its cargo is scarred.<br>I anoint the bedpan. I brush my hair,<br>waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart<br>and were screwed together. They will knit.<br>And the other corpse, the fractured heart,<br>I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet lie a fire alarm it waits to be known.<br>It is wired. In it many colors are stored.<br>While my body's in prison, heart cells alone<br>have multiplied. My bones are merely bored</div><div style="margin:10px 0">with all this waiting around. But the heart,<br>this child of myself that resides in the flesh,<br>this ultimate signature of the me, the start<br>of my blindness and sleep, builds a death crèche.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The figures are placed at the grave of my bones.<br>All figures knowing it is the other death<br>they came for. Each figure standing alone.<br>The heart burst with love and lost its breath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This little town, this little country is real<br>and thus it is so of the post and the cup<br>and thus of the violent heart. The zeal<br>of my house doth eat me up.</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=345453" data-title="The Break de Anne Sexton" data-description="It was also my violent heart that broke,
falling down the front hall stairs.
It was also a message I never spoke,
calling, riser after riser, who cares

about you, who cares, splintering up
the hip that was merely made of crystal,
the post of it a..."></div>
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