Mole, angel-dog of the pit, <br />digging six miles a night, <br />what's up with you in your sooty suit, <br />where's your kitchen at? <br />I find you at the edge of our pond, <br />drowned, numb drainer of weeds, <br />insects floating in your belly, <br />grubs like little fetuses bobbing <br />and your dear face with its fifth hand, <br />doesn't it know it's the end of the war? <br />It's all over, no need to go deep into ponds, <br />no fires, no cripples left. <br />Mole dog, <br />I wish your mother would wake you up <br />and you wouldn't lie there like the Pieta <br />wearing your cross on your nose.<br /><br />Anne Sexton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/star-nosed-mole/
