"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.
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