Death, with one-eyed jack in his hand, makes a promise to the thirteenth child. - Anne Sexton

With a tongue like a razor he will kiss
the mother, the child,
and we three will color the stars black
in memory of his mother
who kept him chained to the food tree
or turned him on and off like a water faucet
and made women through all these hazy years
the enemy with a heart of lies.

إنني الممثلة الوحيدة.
يصعب على امرأة أن تمثّل مسرحية كاملة .
المسرحية هي حياتي، فصلي الوحيد ..
ركضي وراء الأيدي وعجزي عن اللحاق بها (الأيدي غير مرئية لأنها خارج الخشبة ..) ا
وكل ما أفعله على الخشبة هو الركض، مطاردة شيء ما دون أن أصل أبداً ...

From the Garden”

Come, my beloved,
consider the lilies.
We are of little faith.
We talk too much.
Put your mouthful of words away
and come with me to watch
the lilies open in such a field,
growing there like yachts,
slowly steering their petals
without nurses or clocks.
Let us consider the view:
a house where white clouds
decorate the muddy halls.
Oh, put away your good words
and your bad words. Spit out
your words like stones!
Come here! Come here!
Come eat my pleasant fruits.