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

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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
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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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The sanest thing in this world is love.
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It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.
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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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I want to kiss God on His nose and watch Him sneeze and so do you. Not out of disrespect. Out of pique. Out of a man-to-man thing.
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O yellow eye, let me be sick with your heat, let me be feverish and frowning.
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Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
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I have forgiven all the old actors for dying. A new one comes on with the same lines, like large white growths, in his mouth. The dancers come on from the wings, perfectly mated.
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Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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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.
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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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I who was a house full of bowel movement, I who was a defaced altar, I who wanted to crawl toward God could not move nor eat bread.
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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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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