Quote

We are America. We are the coffin fillers. We are the grocers of death. We pack them in crates like cauliflowers.

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
Death
Crates
America
Cauliflower
Like
Grocers
Fillers
Coffin
Coffins
Pack
Packs

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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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... a starving man doesn't ask what the meal is.
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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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[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
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Every time I get happy the Nana-hex comes through. Birds turn into plumber's tools, a sonnet turns into a dirty joke, a wind turns into a tracheotomy, a boat turns into a corpse.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.
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My business is words. Words are like labels, or coins, or better, like swarming bees.
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I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!
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Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady...
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Now, in my middle age, about nineteen in the head I'd say, I am rowing, I am rowing.
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Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.
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A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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You must be a poet, a lady of evil luck desiring to be what you are not, longing to be what you can only visit.
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Well, one gets out of bed and the planets don't always hiss or muck up the day, each day.
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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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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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All the oxygen of the world was in them. All the feet of the babies of the world were in them. All the crotches of the angels of the world were in them. All the morning kisses of Philadelphia were in them.
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