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Rats live on no evil star

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
Evil
Live
Rats
Star
Stars

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And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself
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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind
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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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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 was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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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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We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
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We are all writing God's poem.
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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children.... I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.
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I tell it stories now and then and feed it images like honey. I will not speculate today with poems that think they're money.
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women are born twice.
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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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