Yellow
When they turn the sun
on again I´ll plant children
under it, I´ll light up my soul
with a match and let it sing. I´ll
take my bones and polish them. I´ll
vacuum up my stale hair, I´ll
pay all my neighbors´ bad debts. I´ll
write a poem called Yellow and put
my lips down to drink it up, I´ll
feed myself spoonfuls of heat and
everyone will be home playing with
their wings and the planet will
shudder with all those smiles and
there will be no poison anywhere, no plague
in the sky and there will be a mother-broth
for all of the people and we will
never die, not one of us, we´ll go on
won´t we?
Anne Sexton
