In this hole your mother is crying out each day. Your father is eating cake and digging her grave. In this hole your baby is strangling. Your mouth is clay. Your eyes are made of glass. They break. You are not brave.You are alone like a dog in a kennel.  Your  handsbreak  out  in  boils.  Your arms are cut and  bound by  bands of  wire.  Your voice is  out there. Your voice is strange.  There are no prayers here. Here there is no change.

Angels of the Love Affair / Anne Sexton