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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

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
Even
Love
Cough
Concealed
Small
Cannot

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I grow old on my bitterness.
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You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.
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Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
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I'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
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Our checks are pale. Our wallets are invalids. Past due, past due, is what our bills are saying and yet we kiss in every corner, scuffing the dust and the cat. Love rises like bread as we go bust.
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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