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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.

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
Burning
Red
Asbestos
Despite
Seeps
Fire
Cough
Black
Powder
Gloves
Veins
Filling

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As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk.
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women are born twice.
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And if I tried to give you something else, something outside myself, you would not know that the worst of anyone can be, finally, an accident of hope
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Somebody who should have been born is gone. Yes, woman, such logic will lead to loss without death. Or say what you meant, you coward . . . this baby that I bleed.
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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 who was a house full of bowel movement, I who was a defaced altar, I who wanted to crawl toward God could not move nor eat bread.
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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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Letters are false really - they are expressions of the way you wish you were instead of the way you are.
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Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.
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I brush my hair, waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard, for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart and were screwed together. They will knit. And the other corpse, the fractured heart, I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it.
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I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.
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Watch out for love (unless it is true, and every part of you says yes including the toes), it will wrap you up like a mummy, and your scream won't be heard and none of your running will run.
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The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars. Oh starry starry night! This is how I want to die.
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Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.
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