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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.

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
Bite
Bites
Stone
Till
Bread
Stones

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With this pen I take in hand my selves and with these dead disciples I will grapple. Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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My husband sings Baa Baa black sheep and we pretend that all's certain and good, that the marriage won't end.
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Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
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I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart! But my future is a secret. It is as shy as a mole.
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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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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
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There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
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I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first breath when the planets drill your future into you.
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Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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I am tearing the feathers out of the pillows, waiting, waiting for Daddy to come home and stuff me so full of our infected child that I turn invisible, but married, at last.
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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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Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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