Quote

Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.

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
Keep
Yesterday
Rites
Money
Calm
Rite
Today
Toward
Ingredient
Whole
Prove
Steal
Even
Waiting
Ingredients
Made
Lasts
Salt
Would
Last
Lust
Time
Lost
Stealing

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Rocks crumble, make new forms, oceans move the continents, mountains rise up and down like ghosts yet all is natural, all is change.
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Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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The fish are naked. The fish are always awake. They are the color of old spoons and caramels.
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And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.
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Nature is full of teeth that come in one by one, then decay, fall out.
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Yes, I know. Death sits with his key in my lock. Not one day is taken for granted. Even nursery rhymes have put me in hock.
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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.
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Blue eyes wash off sometimes.
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Yesterday I did not want to be borrowed but this is the typewriter that sits before me and love is where yesterday is at.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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I'm the crazy one who thinks that words reach people.
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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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Love your self's self where it lives.
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I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
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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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I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
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