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You who have inhabited me in the deepest and most broken place, are going, going

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
Broken
Place
Going
Inhabited
Deepest

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My eyes, those sluts, those whores, would play no more.
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My husband sings Baa Baa black sheep and we pretend that all's certain and good, that the marriage won't end.
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Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about Christmas. If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
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I have been cut in two.
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The snow has quietness in it no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
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Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.
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I raise my pelvis to God so that it may know the truth of how flowers smash through the long winter.
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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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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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To be without God is to be a snake / who wants to swallow an elephant.
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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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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.
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And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, My need is more desperate! and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
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There is hope. There is hope everywhere. Today God give milk and I have the pail.
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the heart, this child of myself that resides in the flesh, this ultimate signature of the me, the start of my blindness and sleep, builds a death crèche.
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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is Whatever you do, don't be boring.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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It is June. I am tired of being brave.
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I hoard books. They are people who do not leave.
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