'I have been monstrously good' — erasures by Lauren Davis

Author’s note: These poems are erasures of the letters of Anne Sexton. I have not altered words or word order, but I have modified capitalization and punctuation of the original texts.

Source: Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 1977.

March 13, 1957

Darling—

I adore you all over
the page, all over the lonely
house. Your face haunts
the still made bed.

I know the void and loss
of you. Find the sharp way—
possess me. Whatever it is,
it is like starting over.

Do you remember how
to reach the begging me
in a more delicate way?
I want to be only ghost

and witch. How fleeting
it is—doves cooing in
the pine. Spring will come.
You will come home, too.

Anne

---

November 2, [1948]

Dear—

I have been monstrously good.
Then the rains came.

Plenty of drinking, and I gave myself
a very nice burn. I did not sleep

at all on Friday night. Saturday night
I wore my satin dress. My heart’s desire

is that the worst is over.
Thank God for now.

Very much love,

Anne

---

May 8, 1963

Dear—

If I were to listen to God,
I would be tempered a bit.
That’s the whole trouble.

So far I have not succumbed.
It can be a lonely road. All these
idle thoughts, all this is wrong.

Writing a poem, each word
ripped out. The wrong
things start to happen.

A new kind of orthodoxy—
the only way—to go back
to your desk.

With my best wishes.

---

Lauren Davis is the author of the short story collection The Nothing (YesYes Books), the poetry collection Home Beneath the Church (Fernwood Press), the Eric Hoffer Grand Prize short-listed poetry collection When I Drowned, and three chapbooks. She holds an MFA from the Bennington College Writing Seminars. Her work has appeared in numerous literary publications and anthologies including Prairie Schooner, Poet Lore, Ibbetson Street, Ninth Letter and elsewhere.

Poetry by Lauren Davis

BY LAUREN DAVIS

Little Bean

The doctor tells me he found—

in my brain—something. Nothing

to do, but give it a name. Little bean.

Sparrow’s eye. Lost pearl. It is mine.

I made it. Appleseed, my pale bead.

When I am still enough, it sings.

Brain Growth Undiagnosed in the Month of July

Aberration, you will either be

my everything or my nothing.

Once a man I loved raised his fist to me.

He stood close enough I could

smell him. In that moment I felt

a thing close to unknown.

If you grow, my sweet pea,

you will cut the stream.

Or you might disappear like

dew. I could love you either way.

Today, men set off fireworks

because when this country left

its mother, we were happy.

I think you are maybe a gift,

like when noon creeps in

where there’s been always

winter light. I see everything

now. I see the missed moment

I might have held my palms

to the grass. They call

this prayer. Even in the day

I hear a pop like gunshots

but it’s just children playing

with fire. Some say it’s wasteful

to burn sparklers in the sun

but this is not the type of person

I keep in my life. I keep in my life

you—visitor long overdue.

Little wick, lit.

Lauren Davis is the author of Home Beneath the Church, forthcoming from Fernwood Press, and the chapbook Each Wild Thing’s Consent, published by Poetry Wolf Press. She holds an MFA from the Bennington College Writing Seminars, and she teaches at The Writers’ Workshoppe and Imprint Books. She is a former Editor in Residence at The Puritan’s Town Crier and has been awarded a residency at Hypatia-in-the-Woods. Her work has appeared in over fifty literary publications and anthologies including Prairie Schooner, Spillway, Poet Lore, Ibbetson Street, Ninth Letter and elsewhere.