The Much Misunderstood Star-nosed mole

To celebrate this odd creature: here is a poem by Anne Sexton:

Mole, angel-dog of the pit;

digging six miles a night,

what's up with you in your sooty suit,

where's your kitchen at?

I find you at the edge of our pond,

drowned, numb drainer of weeds,

insects floating in your belly,

grubs like little fetuses bobbing

and your dear face with its fifth hand,

doesn't it know it's the end of the war?

It's all over, no need to go deep into ponds,

no fires, no cripples left.

Mole dog,

I wish your mother would wake you up

and you wouldn't lie there like the Pieta

wearing your cross on your nose.

No comments:

Post a Comment