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Anne Sexton - The Fury Of Sundays

Moist, moist, 
the heat leaking through the hinges, 
sun baking the roof like a pie 
and I and thou and she 
eating, working, sweating, 
droned up on the heat. 
The sun as read as the cop car siren. 
The sun as red as the algebra marks. 
The sun as red as two electric eyeballs. 
She wanting to take a bath in jello. 
You and me sipping vodka and soda, 
ice cubes melting like the Virgin Mary. 
You cutting the lawn, fixing the machines, 
all htis leprous day and then more vodka, 
more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, 
the pond sucking out the throb. 
Our bodies were trash. 
We leave them on the shore. 
I and thou and she 
swin like minnows, 
losing all our queens and kinds, 
losing our hells and our tongues, 
cool, cool, all day that Sunday in July 
when we were young and did not look 
into the abyss, 
that God spot.

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Added: Feb 27 2003 | Viewed: 1262 times | Comments and analysis of The Fury Of Sundays by Anne Sexton Comments (1)

The Fury Of Sundays - Comments and Information

Poet: Anne Sexton
Poem: The Fury Of Sundays
Volume: The Death Notebooks
Year: Published/Written in 1974
Poem of the Day: Feb 4 2012

Comment 1 of 1, added on September 13th, 2005 at 6:50 PM.

Once again, Anne has brought that raw wretched emotion that has touched my soul.

Sarah Marie Rush from United States

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