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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345494" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Inventory Of Goodbye</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have a pack of letters,<br>I have a pack of memories.<br>I could cut out the eyes of both.<br>I could wear them like a patchwork apron.<br>I could stick them in the washer, the drier,<br>and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?<br>Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.<br>Besides - what a bargain - no expensive phone calls.<br>No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.<br>No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest.<br>That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.<br>Blessing us. Blessing us. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Am I to bless the lost you,<br>sitting here with my clumsy soul?<br>Propaganda time is over.<br>I sit here on the spike of truth.<br>No one to hate except the slim fish of memory<br>that slides in and out of my brain.<br>No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown<br>brushing my body like a light that has gone out.<br>It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,<br>meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.<br>Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -<br>all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.<br>The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only<br>black done in black that oozes from the strongbox.<br>I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,<br>of two who were one upon a large woodpile<br>and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl<br>into flame, reaching the sky<br>making it dangerous with its red.</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=345494" data-title="The Inventory Of Goodbye de Anne Sexton" data-description="I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the di..."></div>
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