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The day of fire is coming, the thrush will fly ablaze like a little sky rocket.

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
Fire
Littles
Little
Ablaze
Like
Thrush
Rocket
Rockets
Sky
Coming

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What's missing is the eyeballs in each of us, but it doesn't matter because you've got the bucks, the bucks, the bucks.
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As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
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Please God, we're all right here. Please leave us alone. Don't send death in his fat red suit and his ho-ho baritone.
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Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside
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[I] have fantasies of killing myself and thus being the powerful one not the powerless one.
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you see, we live in a cold climate and are not permitted to kiss on the street so I made up a song that wasn't true. I made up a song called Marriage.
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I would sell my life to avoid the pain that begins in the crib with its bars or perhaps with your first breath when the planets drill your future into you.
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we do not explain my husband's insane abuse and we do not say why your wild-haired wife has fled or that my father opened like a walnut and then was dead. Your palms fold over me like knees. Love is the only use.
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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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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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The ground has on its clothes. The trees poke out of sheets and each branch wears the sock of God.
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I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.
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And tonight our skin, our bones, that have survived our fathers, will meet, delicate in the hold, fastened together in an intricate lock. Then one of us will shout, My need is more desperate! and I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.
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this is no dream just my oily life where the people are alibis and the street is unfindable for an entire lifetime.
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Yet love enters my blood like an I.V., dripping in its little white moments.
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Jewels! Today each twig is important, each ring, each infection, each form is all that the gods must have meant.
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The tongue, the Chinese say, is like a sharp knife: it kills without drawing blood.
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I try to take care and be gentle to them. Words and eggs must be handled with care. Once broken they are impossible things to repair.
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When I lie down to love, old dwarf heart shakes her head. Like an imbecile she was born old.
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I am younger each year at the first snow. When I see it, suddenly, in the air, all little and white and moving then I am in love again and very young and I believe everything.
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