Quote

Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.

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
Asks
Language
Carpenters
Never
Suicides
Like
Carpenter
Suicide
Tools
Build
Special

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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
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A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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Rats live on no evil star
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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In a letter (no matter how quickly it is written or honestly or freely or lovingly) it is more possible to be loving and lovable, more possible to reach out and to take in ... I feel I have somehow deceived you into thinking this is really a human relationship. It is a letter relationship between humans.
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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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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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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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Watch out for love (unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will run.
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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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The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating each other. They are overfed. At night, alone, I marry the bed.
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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
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I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.
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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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women are born twice.
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The fish are naked. The fish are always awake. They are the color of old spoons and caramels.
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There is rust in my mouth,the stain of an old kiss.
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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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