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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345472" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Expatriates</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My dear, it was a moment<br>to clutch for a moment<br>so that you may believe in it<br>and believing is the act of love, I think,<br>even in the telling, wherever it went.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the false New England forest<br>where the misplanted Norwegian trees<br>refused to root, their thick synthetic<br>roots barging out of the dirt to work on the air,<br>we held hands and walked on our knees.<br>Actually, there was no one there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For fourty years this experimental<br>woodland grew, shaft by shaft in perfect rows<br>where its stub branches held and its spokes fell.<br>It was a place of parallel trees, their lives<br>filed out in exile where we walked too alien to know<br>our sameness and how our sameness survives.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Outside of us the village cars followed<br>the white line we had carefully walked<br>two nights before toward our single beds.<br>We lay halfway up an ugly hill and if we fell<br>it was here in the woods where the woods were caught<br>in their dying and you held me well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now I must dream the forest whole<br>and your sweet hands, not once as frozen<br>as those stopped trees, nor ruled, nor pale,<br>nor leaving mine. Today in my house, I see<br>our house, its pillars a dim basement of men<br>holding up their foreign ground for you and me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My dear, it was a time,<br>butchered from time<br>that we must tell of quickly<br>before we lose the sound of our own<br>mouths calling mine, mine, mine.</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=345472" data-title="The Expatriates de Anne Sexton" data-description="My dear, it was a moment
to clutch for a moment
so that you may believe in it
and believing is the act of love, I think,
even in the telling, wherever it went.

In the false New England forest
where the misplanted Norwegian trees
refused to root, ..."></div>
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