By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept

by Elizabeth Smart

the hatred of the mediocre for all miracles.

For who plans suicide sitting in the sun? It is the pile of dust under the bed, the dirty sheets that were never washed, that precipitate fatal action.

To rise again from such slaughter Messiah must indeed become a woman.

Witches were burnt at the stake, all over New England, just for love, just for wearing the lineaments of gratified desire.