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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
Wonder
Break
Anything
Stout
Survives
Wondering
Fragile
Grass
Ground

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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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When they turn the sun on again I'll plant children under it, I'll light up my soul with a match and let it sing.
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I put the gold star up in the front window beside the flag. Alterations is what I know and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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Don't bite till you know if it's bread or stone.
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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going
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Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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I am torn in two but I will conquer myself.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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But even in a telephone booth evil can seep out of the receiver and we must cover it with a mattress, and then tear it from its roots and bury it, bury it.
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
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I sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening the wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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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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Frog has no nerves. Frog is as old as a cockroach. Frog is my father's genitals. Frog is a malformed doorknob. Frog is a soft bag of green.
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God is only mocked by believers.
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Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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