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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
Darling
Ties
Comfort
Body

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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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Take a woman talking, purging herself with rhymes, drumming words out like a typewriter, planting words in you like grass seed. You'll move off.
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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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I was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.
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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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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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The silence is death. It comes each day with its shock to sit on my shoulder, a white bird, and peck at the black eyes and the vibrating red muscle of my mouth.
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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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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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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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The sky breaks. It sags and breathes upon my face. in the presence of mine enemies, mine enemies The world is full of enemies. There is no safe place.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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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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I tell it stories now and then and feed it images like honey. I will not speculate today with poems that think they're money.
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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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Rats live on no evil star
Anne Sexton