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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.

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
Horse
Blind
Necked
Daughter
Reigning
Hand
Nightly
Hands
Mastered
Long
Circus
Love
Horses
Like
Cried

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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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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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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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O starry night, This is how I want to die
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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I've grown tired of love You are the trouble with me I watch you walk right by
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We are all writing God's poem.
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You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.
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Death's in the good-bye.
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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.
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I am in my own mind. I am locked in the wrong house.
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My husband sings Baa Baa black sheep and we pretend that all's certain and good, that the marriage won't end.
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