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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
Knot
Knots
Ties
Separate
Inside
Woman
Never
Men

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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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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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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
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My safe, safe psychosis is broken. It was hard. It was made of stone. It covered my face like a mask. But it has cracked.
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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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I grow old on my bitterness.
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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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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 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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Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the house, marvelous elation. It’s as though I could fly.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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I raise my pelvis to God so that it may know the truth of how flowers smash through the long winter.
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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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