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And within the house ashes are being stuffed into my marriage, fury is lapping the walls, dishes crack on the shelves, a strangler needs my throat, the daughter has ceased to eat anything.

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
House
Cracks
Lapping
Anything
Walls
Stuffed
Needs
Throat
Ceased
Divorce
Fury
Daughter
Crack
Marriage
Shelves
Wall
Dishes
Within
Ashes

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When someone kisses someone or flushes the toilet it is my other who sits in a ball and cries. My other beats a tin drum in my heart. My other hangs up laundry as I try to sleep. My other cries and cries and cries when I put on a cocktail dress.
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Inside many of us is a small old man who wants to get out.
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I've grown tired of love You are the trouble with me I watch you walk right by
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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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It is a dead heart. It is inside of me. It is a stranger yet once it was agreeable, opening and closing like a clam.
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Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.
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Meanwhile in my head, I’m undergoing open-heart surgery.
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Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.
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... man is eating the earth up like a candy bar.
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Even so, I must admire your skill. You are so gracefully insane.
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As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.
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Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.
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I leave you, home, when I'm ripped from the doorstep by commerce or fate. Then I submit to the awful subway of the world.
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I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.
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She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
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One can't build little white picket fences to keep nightmares out.
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