Quote

My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.

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
Injury
Name
Blood
Names
Tags
Death
Tag
Left
Wrists
Two
Bloom
Right
Worn

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I will be steel! I will build a steel bridge over my need! I will build a bomb shelter over my heart! But my future is a secret. It is as shy as a mole.
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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
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Blind with love, my daughter has cried nightly for horses, those long-necked marchers and churners that she has mastered, any and all, reigning them in like a circus hand.
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Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind
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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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My safe, safe psychosis is broken. It was hard. It was made of stone. It covered my face like a mask. But it has cracked.
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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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I suffer for birds and fireflies but not frogs, she said, and threw him across the room. Kaboom! Like a genie out of a samovar, a handsome prince arose in the corner of the bedroom.
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My objects dream and wear new costumes, compelled to, it seems, by all the words in my hands and the sea that bangs in my throat.
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
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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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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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I said, the poets are there I hear them singing and lying around their round table and around me still.
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