from 18 Days Without You, by Anne Sexton

December 16th

Once upon a time
you grew up in a bedroom the size of a dime
and shared it with your sister. That was West End
Avenue in Manhattan. Longing for country you were penned
into city, peering across the Hudson at Palisades Park.
The boy in you played stickball until it was dark.

One upon a time
I was the only child forbidden to climb
over the garden wall. I didn't dare to speak
up over the Victorian houseful of rare antiques.
My dolls were all proper, waiting in neat rows.
My room was high ceilinged, lonely and full of echoes.

Once upon a time
you said, "Now that the cabin is ours,
I'm going to run the power in."
And we had a power party.
I made gingham curtains. We nailed up your Doctoral degree.
We turned the stove on twice. Oh my love, oh my louse,
we make our own electricity while we play house.