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Oh thumb, I want a drink it is dark, where are the big people, when will I get there...?

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
Drink
Dark
Bigs
People
Thumb
Thumbs
Childhood

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My mouth blooms like a cut.
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All who love have lied.
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Home is my Bethlehem, my succoring shelter, my mental hospital, my wife, my dam, my husband, my sir, my womb, my skull.
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There is joy in all: in the hair I brush each morning, in the Cannon towel, newly washed, that I rub my body with each morning.
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life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.
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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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Be careful of words, / ... they can be both daisies and bruises.
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Though rain curses the window let the poem be made.
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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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sorrow is easier than guilt.
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I was only sitting here in my white study with the awful black words pushing me around.
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I’m lost. And it’s my own fault. It’s about time I figured out that I can’t ask people to keep me found.
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Don’t worry if they say you’re crazy. They said that about me and yet I was saner than all of them. I knew. No matter. You know. Insane or sane, you know. It’s a good thing to know - no matter what they call it.
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The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
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All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
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Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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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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There is no word for time. Today we will not think to number another summer or watch its white bird into the ground.
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I grow old on my bitterness.
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