The Starry Night

Anne Sexton (1928-1974)

That doesnot keep me from having a terrible need of -shall I say the word- religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars.
Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother


The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. Te night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
To push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swalows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.