Her Kind
by Anne Sexton

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
tthaunting the black air, braver at night;
ttdreaming evil, I have done my hitch
ttover the plain houses, light by light:
ttlonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
ttA woman like that is not a woman, quite.
ttI have been her kind.

ttI have found the warm caves in the woods,
ttfilled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
ttclosets, silks, innumerable good;
ttfixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
ttwhining, rearranging the disaligned.
ttA woman like that is misunderstood.
ttI have been her kind.

ttI have ridden in your cart, driver,
ttwaved my nude arms at villages going by,
ttlearning the last bright routes, survivor
ttwhere your flames still bite my thigh
ttand my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
ttA woman like that is not ashamed to die.
ttI have been her kind.