Quote

unless I can shake myself free of my dog, my flag, of my desk, my mind, I find life a bit of a drag. Not always, mind you. Usually I'm like my frying pan useful, graceful, sturdy and with no caper, no plan.

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
Unless
Shakes
Sturdy
Bits
Drag
Graceful
Free
Boredom
Desk
Find
Useful
Desks
Mind
Dog
Flag
Always
Plan
Flags
Caper
Life
Usually
Shake
Capers
Like
Plans
Contentment
Frying

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Despite my asbestos gloves, the cough is filling me with black, and a red powder seeps through my veins.
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My life has appeared unclothed in court, detail by detail, death-bone witness by death-bone witness, and I was shamed at the verdict.
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I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.
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No matter whose bed you die in the bed will be yours for your voyage onto the surgical andiron of God.
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Let there be seasons so that our tongues will be rich in asparagus and limes.
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Bless all useful objects, the spoons made of bone, the mattress I cook my dreams upon, the typewriter that is my church with an altar of keys always waiting.
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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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For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.
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I am a collection of dismantled almosts.
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It would be pleasant to be drunk.
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Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.
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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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Jesus saw the multitudes were hungry and He said, Oh Lord, send down a short-order cook.
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My heart is on a budget. It keeps me on the brink.
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God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine.
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being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions
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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.
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My ideas are a curse. They spring from a radical discontent with the awful order of things. I play clown. I play carpenter. I play nurse. I play witch.
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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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I am alone here in my own mind. There is no map and there is no road. It is one of a kind just as yours is.
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