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... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

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
Broken
Spasms
Sleep
Bitterly
Need
Thirsty
Needs
Glowing
Even
Stays
Heart
Helpless
Love
Shade
Cover

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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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women are born twice.
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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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God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.
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Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone.
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I have forgiven all the old actors for dying. A new one comes on with the same lines, like large white growths, in his mouth. The dancers come on from the wings, perfectly mated.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.
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Come, my pretender, my fritter, my bubbler, my chicken biddy! Oh succulent one, it is but one turn in the road and I would be a cannibal!
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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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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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we do not explain my husband's insane abuse and we do not say why your wild-haired wife has fled or that my father opened like a walnut and then was dead. Your palms fold over me like knees. Love is the only use.
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I did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
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I tied down time with a rope but it came back. Then I put my head in a death bowl and my eyes shut up like clams. They didn't come back.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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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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