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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.

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
Sack
Kitten
Trick
Tricks
Life

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There is a good look that I wear like a blood clot. I have sewn it over my left breast. I have made a vocation of it.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!
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There is joy in all: in the hair I brush each morning, in the Cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning.
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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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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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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.
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I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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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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The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives
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God is only mocked by believers.
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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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I would like to bury all the hating eyes under the sand somewhere.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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