Poetry Kind of Day

Pernilla Vick Hanson, b.7 Oct, 1877, Norway, m. 1894, Minnewauken, ND,

d.29 May, 1956, Bismarck, ND. My grandmother.

I am not really a poetry person, maybe I am not smart enough to appreciate a well turned verse or see the underlying message. Like the person that says they don't know much about art but they know what they like... a poem written by Anne Sexton:

HER KIND

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 warm 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,
waving 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.