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,
...

Mother,
strange goddess face
above my milk home,
that delicate asylum,
...

I was thinking of a son.
The womb is not a clock
nor a bell tolling,
but in the eleventh month of its life
...

Husband,
last night I dreamt
they cut off your hands and feet.
...

For the angels who inhabit this town,
although their shape constantly changes,
each night we leave some cold potatoes
...

A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
...

A shoe with legs,
a stone dropped from heaven,
he does his mournful work alone,
...

It was also my violent heart that broke,
falling down the front hall stairs.
It was also a message I never spoke,
...

My God, my God, what queer corner am I in?
Didn't I die, blood running down the post,
lungs gagging for air, die there for the sin
...

Leaping, leaping, leaping,
down line by line,
growling at the cadavers,
filling the holy jugs with their piss,
...