Anne Sexton visits me in my dreams.
And in the night, into my marrow, sorrow, she weaves.
Silently she slips bitter truths in my pockets.
They anchor me to the shoreline; heavy rugged barbs.
And I am helpless against the rising tide.
I am the Unknown Girl’s sin.
Cast off and drowning far from her shore.
My only inheritance is a pendulum soul.
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