Quote

I remember the stink of the liverwurst. How I was put on a platter and laid between the mayonnaise and the bacon. The rhythm of the refrigerator had been disturbed.

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
Rhythm
Platter
Eating
Mayonnaise
Remember
Refrigerator
Refrigerators
Bacon
Stink
Disturbed
Laid

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...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.
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I sit at my desk each night with no place to go, opening the wrinkled maps of Milwaukee and Buffalo, the whole U.S., its cemeteries, its arbitrary time zones, through routes like small veins, capitals like small stones.
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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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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 did not know the woman I would be nor that blood would bloom in me each month like an exotic flower, nor that children, two monuments, would break from between my legs.
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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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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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All I am is the trick of words writing themselves.
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I keep feeling that there isn't one poem being written by any one of us - or a book or anything like that. The whole life of us writers, the whole product I guess I mean, is the one long poem - a community effort if you will. It's all the same poem. It doesn't belong to any one writer - it's God's poem perhaps. Or God's people's poem.
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I tied down time with a rope but it came back. Then I put my head in a death bowl and my eyes shut up like clams. They didn't come back.
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Here in the hospital, I say,that is not my body, not my body.I am not here for the doctorsto read like a recipe.
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No one to hate except the slim fish of memory that slides in and out of my brain.
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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren
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Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.
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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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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.
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I was the girl of the chain letter, the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes, the one of the telephone bills, the wrinkled photo and the lost connections.
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