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Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?

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
Maybe
Feed
Opening
Animals
Hermit
Door
Hermits
Doors
Skull
Becoming
Skulls
Special
Crowded
Animal
Soup

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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
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unless I can shake myself free of my dog, my flag, of my desk, my mind, I find life a bit of a drag. Not always, mind you. Usually I'm like my frying pan useful, graceful, sturdy and with no caper, no plan.
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[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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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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Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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