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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.

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
Leaves
Held
Fast
Girl
Littles
Skipped
Little
Replica
Wrinkled
Oaks

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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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A woman who writes feels too much.
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Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
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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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I did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
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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 was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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Writers are such phonies: they sometimes have wise insights but they don't live by them at all. That's what writers are like...you think they know something, but usually they are just messes.
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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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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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