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• Famous Poem

  • Ringing the Bells (Anne Sexton)
    
    And this is the way they ring
    the bells in Bedlam
    and this is the bell-lady
    who comes each Tuesday morning
    to give us a music lesson
    and because the attendants make you go
    and because we mind by instinct,
    like bees caught in the wrong hive,
    we are the circle of crazy ladies
    who sit in the lounge of the mental house
    and smile at the smiling woman
    who passes us each a bell,
    who points at my hand
    that holds my bell, E flat,
    and this is the gray dress next to me
    who grumbles as if it were special
    to be old, to be old,
    and this is the small hunched squirrel girl
    on the other side of me
    who picks at the hairs over her lip,
    who picks at the hairs over her lip all day,
    and this is how the bells really sound,
    as untroubled and clean
    as a workable kitchen,
    and this is always my bell responding
    to my hand that responds to the lady
    who points at me, E flat;
    and although we are not better for it,
    they tell you to go. And you do.
    
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