04-13-2017, 02:59 PM
Anne Sexton, listening for the devil
The devil stays silent,
harsh as a mountain cliff-face.
Rigby, uglier than a husband,
fiddles with machines in the workshop,
mumbling. I exhale peppermint breath
as a benediction. He works in stained overalls,
curses the devil through his dry lips,
cracked by chemical vapours and sun.
He barks ‘Why?’ like an angry parent
who won’t believe the answer, anyway.
He’s formal and hostile.
The devil is right under our feet.
Everyone already thinks they recognise
his appearance, even without a body.
He didn’t have a body when I was a teen.
Then, he was tiny, hiding in dark cracks
ready to leap, a hungry spider.
As a child, I knew that unborn babies
hid there with him, among hairpins.
Then, my pillow was as soft as a breast,
and inside, winter fires purred.
Rigby, when he gets here, ask him ...
Dammit Rigby,
ask him why life breaks me down.
(from 'Eleanor Boylan, talking to God' by Anne Sexton)
The devil stays silent,
harsh as a mountain cliff-face.
Rigby, uglier than a husband,
fiddles with machines in the workshop,
mumbling. I exhale peppermint breath
as a benediction. He works in stained overalls,
curses the devil through his dry lips,
cracked by chemical vapours and sun.
He barks ‘Why?’ like an angry parent
who won’t believe the answer, anyway.
He’s formal and hostile.
The devil is right under our feet.
Everyone already thinks they recognise
his appearance, even without a body.
He didn’t have a body when I was a teen.
Then, he was tiny, hiding in dark cracks
ready to leap, a hungry spider.
As a child, I knew that unborn babies
hid there with him, among hairpins.
Then, my pillow was as soft as a breast,
and inside, winter fires purred.
Rigby, when he gets here, ask him ...
Dammit Rigby,
ask him why life breaks me down.
(from 'Eleanor Boylan, talking to God' by Anne Sexton)