All I wanted was a little piece of life, to be married, to have children. [...] I was trying my damnedest to lead a conventional life, for that was how I was brought up, and it was what my husband wanted of me. But one can't build little white picket fences to keep the nightmares out.

Anne Sexton


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Her Kind

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Anne Sexton

Tags: poetry woman growth survivor



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Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren

Anne Sexton


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Love? Be it man. Be it woman.
It must be a wave you want to glide in on,
give your body to it, give your laugh to it,
give, when the gravelly sand takes you,
your tears to the land. To love another is something
like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall
into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.

Anne Sexton


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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.

Anne Sexton


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Only my books anoint me,
and a few friends,
those who reach into my veins.

Anne Sexton

Tags: friends books poetry



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I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.

Anne Sexton


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Take your foot out of the graveyard,
they are busy being dead.

Anne Sexton


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All day I've built
a lifetime and now
the sun sinks to
undo it.

Anne Sexton


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Poetry is my life, my postmark, my hands, my kitchen, my face.

Anne Sexton


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