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Let there be seasons so that our tongues will be rich in asparagus and limes.

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
Seasons
Tongue
Rich
Limes
Asparagus
Tongues

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I tell you what you’ll never really know: all the medical hypothesis that explained my brain will never be as true as these struck leaves letting go.
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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To tell the truth days are all the same size and words aren't much company.
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The body is a damn hard thing to kill.
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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.
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Everyone in me is a bird I am beating all my wings
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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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Now that I have written many words, and let out so many loves, for so many, and been altogether what I always was a woman of excess, of zeal and greed, I find the effort useless.
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Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.
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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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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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The man inside of woman ties a knot so that they will never again be separate.
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What a lay me down this is with two pink, two orange, two green, two white goodnights.
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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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Frog has no nerves. Frog is as old as a cockroach. Frog is my father's genitals. Frog is a malformed doorknob. Frog is a soft bag of green.
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Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.
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The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.
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