Anne Sexton Poems

Anna who was mad,
I have a knife in my armpit.
When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.
Am I some sort of infection?
...

Anger,
as black as a hook,
overtakes me.
Each day,
...

It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
...

Consider
a girl who keeps slipping off,
arms limp as old carrots,
into the hypnotist's trance,
...

A born salesman,
my father made all his dough
by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo.
...

Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy's
laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first
...

You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
...

Oh sharp diamond, my mother!
I could not count the cost
of all your faces, your moods-
that present that I lost.
...

It's in the heart of the grape
where that smile lies.
It's in the good-bye-bow in the hair
where that smile lies.
...

Wait Mister. Which way is home?
They turned the light out
and the dark is moving in the corner.
There are no sign posts in this room,
...