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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.

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
Body
Darling
Ties
Comfort

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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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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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It's a little mad, but I believe I am many people. When I am writing a poem, I feel I am the person who should have written it.
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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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The Saints come, as human as a mouth, with a bag of God in their backs, like a hunchback, they come, they come marching in.
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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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It is June. I am tired of being brave.
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We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
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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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Why are all these dolls falling out of the sky? Was there a father? Or have the planets cut holes in their nets and let our childhood out, or are we the dolls themselves, born but never fed?
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I, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
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Father, you died once, salted down at fifty-nine, packed down like a big snow angel, wasn't that enough?
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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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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 would like to bury all the hating eyes under the sand somewhere.
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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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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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O starry night, This is how I want to die
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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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