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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.

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
Place
Home
Live
Maze
Kind
Mazes
Exit
Chaos
Seeking
Keep

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I'm hunting for the truth. It might be a kind of poetic truth, and not just a factual one, because behind everything that happens to you, there is another truth, a secret life.
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In a dream you are never eighty.
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For forty days, for forty nights Jesus put one foot in front of the other and the man he carried, if it was a man, became heavier and heavier.
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
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Everyone has left me except my muse, that good nurse. She stays in my hand, a mild white mouse.
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I am tearing the feathers out of the pillows, waiting, waiting for Daddy to come home and stuff me so full of our infected child that I turn invisible, but married, at last.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build.
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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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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn.
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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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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
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I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.
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I can only sign over everything, the house, the dog, the ladders, the jewels, the soul, the family tree, the mailbox. Then I can sleep. Maybe.
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All considerations for these human remains! They must have an escort! They are classified!
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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