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Poor thing. To die and never see Brooklyn.

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
Thing
Never
Brooklyn
Dies
Poor

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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, in my brand new body, which was not a woman's yet, told the stars my questions and thought God could really see the heat and the painted light, elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.
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As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
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A woman who writes feels too much.
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Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about Christmas. If they want to say something bad, they whisper.
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Poems aren't postcards to send home.
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And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
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Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.
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The place I live in is a kind of maze and I keep seeking the exit or the home.
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I would like a simple life / yet all night I am laying / poems away in a long box.
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Oh, darling, let your body in, let it tie you in, in comfort.
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Of course the New Testament is very small. Its mouth opens four times as out-of-date as a prehistoric monster, yet somehow man-made.
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Suddenly I'm not half the girl I used to be. There's a shadow hanging over me . . . From me to you out of my electric devil.
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think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well: larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
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And the aura of you remains, remains, remains...
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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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Dead drunk is the term I think of, insensible, neither cool nor warm, without a head or a foot. To be drunk is to be intimate with a fool.
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I am younger each year at the first snow.
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Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.
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Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.
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