Quote

I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.

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
Room
Prince
Fireflies
Rooms
Bedroom
Genie
Suffering
Corner
Genies
Like
Birds
Firefly
Corners
Arose
Suffer
Frogs
Across
Threw
Bird
Handsome

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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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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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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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Once upon a time we were all born, popped out like jelly rolls forgetting our fishdom, the pleasuring seas, the country of comfort, spanked into the oxygens of death.
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The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.
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I like you your eyes are full of language. [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]
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I see myself as one would see another. I have been cut in two.
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Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.
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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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Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
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I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
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Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.
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And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself
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Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.
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I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
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She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
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I would like to bury all the hating eyes under the sand somewhere.
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Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady...
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