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Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.

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
Scooped
Abundance
Remains

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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
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Someone is dead. Even the trees know it, those poor old dancers who come on lewdly, all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
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When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old.
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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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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When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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Those moments before a poem comes, when the heightened awareness comes over you, and you realize a poem is buried there somewhere, you prepare yourself. I run around, you know, kind of skipping around the house, marvelous elation. It’s as though I could fly.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone. Yes, woman, such logic will lead to loss without death. Or say what you meant, you coward . . . this baby that I bleed.
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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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When the cow gives blood and the Christ is born we must all eat sacrifices. We must all eat beautiful women.
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We are all writing God's poem.
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In an old time there was a king as wise as a dictionary.
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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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Watch out for love (unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will run.
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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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