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And the aura of you remains, remains, 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
Aura
Auras
Remains

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Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about Christmas. If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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To die whole, riddled with nothing but desire for it, is like breakfast after love.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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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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The boys and girls are one tonight. They unbutton blouses. They unzip flies. They take off shoes. They turn off the light. The glimmering creatures are full of lies. They are eating each other. They are overfed. At night, alone, I marry the bed.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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I put the gold star up in the front window beside the flag. Alterations is what I know and what I did: hems, gussets and seams.
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The snow has quietness in it no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.
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being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions
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Put your ear down close to your soul and listen hard.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind
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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.
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I am torn in two but I will conquer myself.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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