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My faith is a great weight hung on a small wire, as doth the spider hang her baby on a thin web.

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
Baby
Spider
Small
Spiders
Faith
Doth
Great
Wire
Thin
Hung
Hang
Weight

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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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I would like to bury all the hating eyes under the sand somewhere.
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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse.
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women are born twice.
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To love another is somethinglike prayer and it can't be planned, you just fallinto its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.
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I am crazy as hell, but I know it. And knowing it is a kind of sanity that makes the sickness worse.
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No matter whose bed you die in the bed will be yours for your voyage onto the surgical andiron of God.
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Blind with love, my daughter has cried nightly for horses, those long-necked marchers and churners that she has mastered, any and all, reigning them in like a circus hand.
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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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Mood can be as important as sense.
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I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.
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All who love have lied.
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Take a woman talking, purging herself with rhymes, drumming words out like a typewriter, planting words in you like grass seed. You'll move off.
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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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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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I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.
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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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Fear / a motor, / pumps me around and around / until I fade slowly.
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the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
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