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Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have.

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
Wide
Birth
Wise
Bigs
Heart
Much
People
Watermelon
Abundance

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Poets are sitting in my kitchen. Why do these poets lie? Why do children get children and Did you hear what it said?
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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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I'm an empress. I wear an apron. My typewriter writes. It didn't break the way it warned. Even crazy, I'm as nice as a chocolate bar.
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Poetry to me is prayer.
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Fee-fi-fo-fum - Now I'm borrowed. Now I'm numb.
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Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.
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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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Yes I try to kill myself in small amounts, an innocuous occupation. Actually I'm hung up on it.
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God owns heaven but He craves the earth.
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Love your self's self where it lives.
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women are born twice.
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A woman who writes feels too much.
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So I won't hang around in my hospital shift, repeating The Black Mass and all of it. I say Live, Live because of the sun, the dream, the excitable gift.
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I'll Vacuum up my stale hair, I'll pay all my neighbors' bad debts, I'll write a poem called Yellow and put my lips down to drink it up.
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The Saints come, as human as a mouth, with a bag of God in their backs, like a hunchback, they come, they come marching in.
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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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God is only mocked by believers.
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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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Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?
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I was spread out dailyand examined for flaws.
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