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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
Inhabited
Deepest
Broken
Place
Going

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There is an animal inside me, clutching fast to my heart, a huge crab.
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With this pen I take in hand my selves and with these dead disciples I will grapple. Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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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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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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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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I think of myself as writing for one person, that one perfect reader who understands and loves.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
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They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.
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A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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Talk to me about sadness. I talk about it too much in my own head but I never mind others talking about it either I occasionally feel like I tremendously need others to talk about it as well.
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O fallen angel, the companion within me, whisper something holy before you pinch me into the grave.
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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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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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Yes, I know. Death sits with his key in my lock. Not one day is taken for granted. Even nursery rhymes have put me in hock.
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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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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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