Her Kind – By Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,


haunting the black air, braver at night;


dreaming evil, I have done my hitch


over the plain houses, light by light;


lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.


A woman like that is not a woman, quite.


I have been her kind.



I have found the wame caves in the woods,


filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,


closets, silks, innumerable goods;


fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:


whining, rearranging the disaligned


A woman like that is misunderstood.


I have been her kind.



I have ridden in your cart, driver,


waved my nude arms at villages going by,


learning the last bright routes, survivor


where your flames still bite my thigh


and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.


A woman like that is not ashamed to die.


I have been her kind.