Quote

And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

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
Shoes
Like
Boats
Blessed
Throat
Sea
Stone
Dead
Stopped
Lying
Boat
Eye
Refuse
Without
Stones
Would

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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine.
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She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
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Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
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In an old time there was a king as wise as a dictionary.
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It doesn't matter who my father was it matters who I remember he was.
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Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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My faith is a great weight hung on a small wire, as doth the spider hang her baby on a thin web.
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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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The snow has quietness in it no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
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Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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The sky breaks. It sags and breathes upon my face. in the presence of mine enemies, mine enemies The world is full of enemies. There is no safe place.
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unless I can shake myself free of my dog, my flag, of my desk, my mind, I find life a bit of a drag. Not always, mind you. Usually I'm like my frying pan useful, graceful, sturdy and with no caper, no plan.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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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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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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