Harlot | Leah Welborn

Posted on Posted in poems

The glass of my inventory broke away dead
and there you were, my young moss king,
your face on the dog’s neck, my legend lover of red
on the asylum lawn, walking.

My lovely dame begs me not to talk.
Her kind has come to know the classroom of black art,
and the wild, wild women who with whiskey passion walk
(for consorting with angels endeth a suicide heart).

Jesus raises up the harlot, begs me to hurry:
“Swim back to the star-nosed whore, the love plant gull!”
Ringing the bells alone was consecrating the division of fury.
Doors, doors, doors. Flee the insane in the middle.

I lament the wanting to die, oh, wonderful little mother,
the pain for your daughter, the peasant, the other.

Source: Titles of Anne Sexton poems.

About the Author
Leah Welborn is a poet who lives and writes in Denver, Colorado, in the midst of a small menagerie of pets. She holds an MFA from Antioch University and her work can be found in a variety of online and print journals.