Anne Sexton Poems (219 Poems)
45 Mercy Street (Anne Sexton Poems)
In my dream, drilling into the marrow of my entire bone, my real dream, I’m walking up and down Beacon Hill searching for a street sign — namely MERCY STREET. Not there. I try the Back Bay. Not there. Not … Continue reading
For the Year of the Insane (Anne Sexton Poems)
a prayer O Mary, fragile mother, hear me, hear me now although I do not know your words. The black rosary with its silver Christ lies unblessed in my hand for I am the unbeliever. Each bead is round and … Continue reading
In Celebration Of My Uterus (Anne Sexton Poems)
Everyone in me is a bird. I am beating all my wings. They wanted to cut you out but they will not. They said you were immeasurably empty but you are not. They said you were sick unto dying but … Continue reading
Menstruation At Forty (Anne Sexton Poems)
I was thinking of a son. The womb is not a clock nor a bell tolling, but in the eleventh month of its life I feel the November of the body as well as of the calendar. In two days … Continue reading
For My Lover, Returning To His Wife (Anne Sexton Poems)
She is all there. She was melted carefully down for you and cast up from your childhood, cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies. She has always been there, my darling. She is, in fact, exquisite. Fireworks in the … Continue reading
Demon (Anne Sexton Poems)
A young man is afraid of his demon and puts his handover the demon’s mouth sometimes…— D. H. Lawrence I mentioned my demon to a friendand the friend swam in oil and came forth to megreasy and crypticand said,“I’m thinking … Continue reading
Sylvia’s Death (Anne Sexton Poems)
for Sylvia Plath O Sylvia, Sylvia, with a dead box of stones and spoons, with two children, two meteors wandering loose in a tiny playroom, with your mouth into the sheet, into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer, (Sylvia, Sylvia … Continue reading
Love Letter Written In A Burning Building (Anne Sexton Poems)
I am in a crate, the crate that was ours,full of white shirts and salad greens,the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks,and I wore movies in my eyes,and you wore eggs in your tunnel,and we played sheets, sheets, sheetsall day, … Continue reading
Christmas Eve (Anne Sexton Poems)
Oh sharp diamond, my mother! I could not count the cost of all your faces, your moods- that present that I lost. Sweet girl, my deathbed, my jewel-fingered lady, your portrait flickered all night by the bulbs of the tree. … Continue reading
The Touch (Anne Sexton Poems)
For months my hand was sealed off in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings. Perhaps it is bruised, I thought, and that is why they have locked it up. You could tell time by this, I … Continue reading
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