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Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

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
Death
Addiction
Littles
Rise
Little
Tiny
Need
Sea
Needs
Kill
Even
Says
Voice
Woman

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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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I love the word warm. It is almost unbearable-- so moist and breathlike.
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Pulling off the fat diamond engagement ring, pulling off the elopement wedding ring, and holding them, clicking them in thumb and forefinger, the indent of twenty-five years, like a tiny rip leaving its mark.
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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.
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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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My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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The joy that isn't shared dies young.
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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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 brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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Take adultery or theft. Merely sins. It is evil who dines on the soul, stretching out its long bone tongue. It is evil who tweezers my heart, picking out its atomic worms.
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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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For forty days, for forty nights Jesus put one foot in front of the other and the man he carried, if it was a man, became heavier and heavier.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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Loving me with my shoes off means loving my long brown legs, sweet dears, as good as spoons and my feet, those two children let out to play naked.
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Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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