Quote

The Saints come, as human as a mouth, with a bag of God in their backs, like a hunchback, they come, they come marching in.

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
Bags
Saint
Mouth
Mouths
Human
Hunchback
Humans
Marching
Come
Backs
Like
Saints

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I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.
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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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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.
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Images are probably the most important part of the poem. First of all you want to tell a story, but images are what are going to shore it up and get to the heart of the matter.
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Daisies in water are the longest lasting flower you can give to someone. Fact. Buy daisies. Not roses.
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Our children tremble in their teen-age cribs, whirling off on a thumb or a motorcycle.
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.
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Once I was a couple. I was my own king and queen with cheese and bread and rosé on the rocks of Rockport.
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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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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.
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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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I am teaching... This year it's kind of like having a love affair with a rhinoceros.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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