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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives

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
Survives
Wondering
Fragile
Grass
Ground
Wonder
Break
Anything
Stout

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Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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I rot on the wall, my own Dorian Gray.
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I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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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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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.
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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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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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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
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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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I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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