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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.

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
Inside
Woman
Never
Men
Knot
Knots
Ties
Separate

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I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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And thus Snow White became the prince's bride. The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast and when she arrived there were red-hot iron shoes, in the manner of red-hot roller skates, clamped upon her feet.
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Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
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All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
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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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God is only mocked by believers.
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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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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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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.
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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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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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I can only sign over everything, the house, the dog, the ladders, the jewels, the soul, the family tree, the mailbox. Then I can sleep. Maybe.
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I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
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Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.
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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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There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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