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Poetry of the legends part 3

The Fury Of God's Goodbye - Anne Sexton

 One day He 
tipped His top hat 
and walked 
out of the room, 
ending the argument. 
He stomped off 
I don't give guarantees. 
I was left 
quite alone 
using up the darkness 
I rolled up 
my sweater, 
up in a ball, 
and took it 
to bed with me, 
a kind of stand-in 
for God, 
that washerwoman 
who walks out 
when you're clean 
but not ironed. 
When I woke up 
the sweater 
had turned to 
bricks of gold. 
I'd won the world 
but like a 
forsaken explorer, 
I'd lost 
my map.