Winter 1958 • Vol. XX No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1958 |

Calypso

I am a woman become a sea: So at a breath do you bring me The swelling tide, the slip Slide, and wash of the moon: The sea-anemone of lip Engulfs the falling room. A fish and monocle eye, Pores that blossom like plates, Flatten upon me where I lie Lost and lovely as lakes. You call me witch of the sea: You say my ways are oiled With dead men who forgot to flee My salt and watery toils Yet they are men and can go free: I am a woman become a sea.

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.