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It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.

Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton
Age: 45 †
Born: 1928
Born: November 9
Died: 1974
Died: October 4
Poet
Writer
Newton
Massachusetts
Anne Gray Harvey
Children
Matters
Grief
Daughter
Father
Death
Fathering
Doesn
Fatherhood
Remember
Daddy
Matter
Dad

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After a disaster strikes, it can be very devastating and very challenging. You're going to need a lot of strength and energy, and the American Red Cross suggests you go for the high protein items.
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And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, My need is more desperate! and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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I did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
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I leave you, home, when I'm ripped from the doorstep by commerce or fate. Then I submit to the awful subway of the world.
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All who love have lied.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
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What's missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn't matter because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating each other. They are overfed. At night, alone, I marry the bed.
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Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
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