Slim inquirer, while the old fathers sleep <br />you are reworking their soil, you have <br />a grocery store there down under the earth <br />and it is well stocked with broken wine bottles, <br />old cigars, old door knobs and earth, <br />that great brown flour that you kiss each day. <br />There are dark stars in the cool evening and <br />you fondle them like killer birds' beaks. <br />But what I want to know is why when small boys <br />dig you up for curiosity and cut you in half <br />why each half lives and crawls away as if whole. <br />Have you no beginning and end? Which heart is <br />the real one? Which eye the seer? Why <br />is it in the infinite plan that you would <br />be severed and rise from the dead like a gargoyle <br />with two heads?<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/earthworm-4/
