have gone out, a possessed witch, <br />haunting the black air, braver at night; <br />dreaming evil, I have done my hitch <br />over the plain houses, light by light: <br />lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. <br />A woman like that is not a woman, quite. <br />I have been her kind. <br /> <br />I have found the warm caves in the woods, <br />filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, <br />closets, silks, innumerable goods; <br />fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: <br />whining, rearranging the disaligned. <br />A woman like that is misunderstood. <br />I have been her kind. <br /> <br />I have ridden in your cart, driver, <br />waved my nude arms at villages going by, <br />learning the last bright routes, survivor <br />where your flames still bite my thigh <br />and my ribs crack where your wheels wind. <br />A woman like that is not ashamed to die. <br />I have been her kind.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-kind/
