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I said, the poets are there I hear them singing and lying around their round table and around me still.

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
Hear
Poets
Lying
Round
Around
Rounds
Stills
Table
Still
Tables
Singing
Poet
Poetry

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Jesus saw the multitudes were hungry and He said, Oh Lord, send down a short-order cook.
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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I have a black look I do not like. It is a mask I try on. I migrate toward it and its frog sits on my lips and defecates.
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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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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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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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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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When I'm writing, I know I'm doing the thing I was born to do.
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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.
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Somebody who should have been born is gone.
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At six I lived in a graveyard full of dolls, avoiding myself, my body, the suspect in its grotesque house.
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I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.
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the heart, this child of myself that resides in the flesh, this ultimate signature of the me, the start of my blindness and sleep, builds a death crèche.
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True. There is a beautiful Jesus. He is frozen to his bones like a chunk of beef. How desperately he wanted to pull his arms in! How desperately I touch his vertical and horizontal axes! But I can't. Need is not quite belief.
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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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Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.
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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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To be without God is to be a snake / who wants to swallow an elephant.
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