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

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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.
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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.
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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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What's the point of fighting the dollars when all you need is a warm bed? When the dog barks you let him in. All we need is someone to let us in. And one other thing: to consider the lilies in the field.
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we do not explain my husband's insane abuse and we do not say why your wild-haired wife has fled or that my father opened like a walnut and then was dead. Your palms fold over me like knees. Love is the only use.
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We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.
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Man is a bird full of mud, I say aloud. And death looks on with a casual eye and scratches his anus.
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Rocks crumble, make new forms, oceans move the continents, mountains rise up and down like ghosts yet all is natural, all is change.
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Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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O starry night, This is how I want to die
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We are all writing God's poem.
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I put the gold star up in the front window beside the flag. Alterations is what I know and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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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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