"Flight"

"Parked, at last, 

On a dime that would never last,

I ran through the airport. 

Wild for love, I ran through the airport,

Stockings and skirts and dollars..."

In "Flight," Anne Sexton writes of the Boston Logan International Airport. 

For the sake of a cold, northern, corpse love-

 She dashes through the terminal in a futile attempt to

Change his mind. 

Sexton chases a dream that was never there;

It is arguable to say

Her "love" never existed at all. 

I live my life in a cold, Boston terminal. 

I am stockings. I am skirts. I am dollars. 

I am foam rollers, I am rouge lipstick, I am the shell of a woman

Who once had dignity. 

I live my life, longing for the melancholy 

Of a cold northern winter

Just to feel close

To...

Wading in glue. 

Outside an airport...

Knocking my dizzy head on street lamps

With nowhere else to go.