deepundergroundpoetry.com
Flowers for Confessors
after TS Eliot
Anne Sexton was obsessed with death,
That bellringer, this gravedigger.
In stylish dress, with gin-smoked breath,
Her corpse lolled in the gas-drenched car.
Cocktail sticks poke out her eyes,
The housewife’s life in grim surmise.
Measured out in olives, parts,
Domestic violence, artichoke hearts.
Plath, I guess, preceded her,
As death begets, like rabbits breed.
She sought a solace in the slur
Against fathers, the daughter’s need.
She knew the pain of too much sense,
The flowers through the rotting ribs.
The pain for which no recompense
Occurs; not marriage, books, or kids.
Anne Sexton was obsessed with death,
That bellringer, this gravedigger.
In stylish dress, with gin-smoked breath,
Her corpse lolled in the gas-drenched car.
Cocktail sticks poke out her eyes,
The housewife’s life in grim surmise.
Measured out in olives, parts,
Domestic violence, artichoke hearts.
Plath, I guess, preceded her,
As death begets, like rabbits breed.
She sought a solace in the slur
Against fathers, the daughter’s need.
She knew the pain of too much sense,
The flowers through the rotting ribs.
The pain for which no recompense
Occurs; not marriage, books, or kids.
Published 10th Jan 2025
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likes 5
reading list entries 4
comments 2
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11th Jan 2025 12:27pm
An amazing piece of writing my friend. Eliot wrote something on the lines of 'he conceived poetry as a living whole of all the poetry that has ever been written.' For me anyways, this nestles comfortably within that concept.
11th Jan 2025 5:30pm
Really enjoyed the piece and the flow of it worked well. Plath came before Sexton, so she was influenced by her.
