Since you ask, most days I can not remember.
I was wrapped in black
my hair rising like smoke from the car window
and I beat down the psalms
(notice how he has numbered the blue veins)
and I undid the buttons
(like carpenters they want to know which tools)
and the love, whatever it was, an infection
and then you called me princess.
Climb her like a monument, step after step
(he is bulding a city, a city of flesh)
then the almost unnameable lust returns
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
And then you crowned me
fireworks in the dull middle of February
face flushed with a song and their little sleep,
and as real as a cast-iron pot
the bones, the confusions.
You undid me and then
I stood up in my gold skin.
From the glory of boards he has built me up.
As for me, I am a watercolor,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.
Source: Cento with lines from the following Anne Sexton poems: “Wanting to Die,” “For My Lover,” “Returning to His Wife,” “Mr. Mine” and “Us.”
Jill Crammond is a poet and artist, funding her passion for poetry by teaching childrens’ art classes in upstate NY. Her work has appeared in Crab Creek Review, Weave, qarrtsiluni and others.