Anne Sexton Poems

What is death, I ask.
What is life, you ask.
I give them both my buttocks,
...

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,
...

Someone lives in a cave
eating his toes,
I know that much.
Someone little lives under a bush
...