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I have been cut in two.

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
Cutting
Two

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I grow old on my bitterness.
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I like you your eyes are full of language. [Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]
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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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I put the gold star up in the front window beside the flag. Alterations is what I know and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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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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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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The windows, the starving windows that drive the trees like nails into my heart.
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My death from the wrists, two name tags, blood worn like a corsage to bloom one on the left and one on the right.
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One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is Whatever you do, don't be boring.
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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first breath when the planets drill your future into you.
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Today life opened inside me like an egg.
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It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious
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I raise my pelvis to God so that it may know the truth of how flowers smash through the long winter.
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Craft is a trick you make up to let you write the poem.
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But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic.
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My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.
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