I Author My Own Disaster, Volume One, Part Four
René Magritte, Les Amants II; 1928
Now I am your mother, your daughter,
your brand new thing – a snail, a nest.
I am alive when your fingers are.
I wear silk – the cover to uncover-
because silk is what I want you to think of.
But I dislike the cloth. It is too stern.
So tell me anything but track me like a climber
for here is the eye, here is the jewel,
here is the excitement the nipple learns.
I am unbalanced – but I am not mad with snow.
I am mad the way young girls are mad,
with an offering, an offering…
I burn the way money burns.
— Anne Sexton, The Breast
No longer unbalanced but still mad
and rather than money I burn like a furnace,
taking everything you give