Anne Sexton Reads Starry Night

Starry Night, by Vincent Van Gogh (Netherlands) 1889

The Starry Night

That does not 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 a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The 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 swallows 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.

Anne Sexton