To a Poet I Might Have Known

(dedicated to Anne Sexton)


On the inside of my elbow

lies a dead woman’s name.

I wrote it there so she might live in my blood,

tap me out my poem;

a gut-rush confessional.

Do good girls have more fun?

What’s a bad girl?


Is there an irony to names?

My father, a Graves, will never lie in one.

I don’t want to either.

Give my body wings to fold back into me,

collapse in my infinitesimal bits,

be the ocean.

I’m a pisces mermaid

looking for her pearls.


Let your arms embrace me

limitless voyager.

Be in me like light.

Shine in the wet ink

right before the paper knows

I’m there.


About jake.forrest

Poet. Songwriter. Etc. View all posts by jake.forrest

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