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lunedì 29 dicembre 2014

The fury of God's good-bye (Anne Sexton)

One day He
tipped His top hat
and walked
out of the room,
ending the argument.
He stomped off
I don't give guarantees.
I was left
quite alone
using up the darkness.
I rolled up
my sweater,
up into a ball,
and took it
to bed with me,
a kind of stand-in
for God,
that washerwoman
who walks out
when you're clean
but not ironed.

When I woke up
the sweater
had turned to
bricks of gold.
I'd won the world
but like a
forsaken explorer,
I'd lost
my map

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