Quote

You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.

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
Like
Animal
Feds
Small
Breasts
Wrong
Lays
Knuckle
White
Hunger
Knuckles
Strong
Bed
Snail
Firsts
Lips
Fist
First
Animals
Fists
Love
Parent
Breast

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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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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 ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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Only my books anoint me, and a few friends, those who reach into my veins.
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you see, we live in a cold climate and are not permitted to kiss on the street so I made up a song that wasn't true. I made up a song called Marriage.
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What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
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The family story tells, and it was told true, of my great-grandfather who begat eight genius children and bought twelve almost new grand pianos. He left a considerable estate when he died.
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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 sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening the wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones.
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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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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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