45 Mercy Street
45 Mercy Street
Anne Sexton
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In my dream,
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drilling into the marrow
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of my entire bone,
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my real dream,
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I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
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searching for a street sign—
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namely MERCY STREET.
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Not there.
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I try the Back Bay.
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Not there.
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Not there.
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And I try the South End.
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Not there.
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Not there.
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Not there.
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Where did you go?
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45 Mercy Street,
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with great-grandmother,
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three generations back,
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in a house of her own,
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with a dinner table,
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a place for the family ashtray,
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a cut-glass tumbler for the whiskey.
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Oh, mercy,
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is there no mercy street?
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Someone must have taken the street sign down.
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I have walked and walked
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and still I reside in hell.