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The stars are pears that no one can reach, even for a wedding. Perhaps for a death.

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
Pears
Wedding
Reach
Perhaps
Stars
Death
Even

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Daylight is nobody's friend. God comes in like a landlord and flashes on his brassy lamp.
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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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Cinderella and the prince lived, they say, happily ever after, like two dolls in a museum case never bothered by diapers or dust, never arguing over the timing of an egg, never telling the same story twice.
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Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.
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Earth, earthriding your merry-go-roundtoward extinction,right to the rootsthickening the oceans like gravy,festering in your caves,you are becoming a latrine.
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it was my first doll that water went into and water came out of much earlier it was the diaper I wore and the dirt thereof and my mother hating me for it
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Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.
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bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics. Or form a Piss Club where we all go in the bushes and peek at each other's sex.
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I burn the way money burns.
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My sleeping pill is white. It is a splendid pearl it floats me out of myself, my stung skin as alien as a loose bolt of cloth.
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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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This is what poems are: with mercy for the greedy, they are the tongue's wrangle, the world's pottage, the rat's star.
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I am so imperfect, can you love me when really my soul is deformed? Will you love me anyhow?
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Even without wars, life is dangerous.
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Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
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And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself
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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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What's the point of fighting the dollars when all you need is a warm bed? When the dog barks you let him in. All we need is someone to let us in. And one other thing: to consider the lilies in the field.
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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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