Anne Sexton

(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974 / Newton, Massachusetts)

Anne Sexton Poems

161. The Poet Of Ignorance 3/29/2010
162. The Red Dance 3/29/2010
163. The Road Back 3/29/2010
164. The Room Of My Life 3/29/2010
165. The Stand-Ins 3/29/2010
166. The Starry Night 3/29/2010
167. The Touch 3/29/2010
168. The Truth The Dead Know 6/27/2006
169. The Twelve Dancing Princesses 3/29/2010
170. The Waiting Head 3/29/2010
171. The Wedding Ring Dance 3/29/2010
172. The Wifebeater 3/29/2010
173. The Witch's Life 3/29/2010
174. To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Triumph 3/29/2010
175. Torn Down From Glory Daily 3/29/2010
176. Unknown Girl In A Maternity Ward 3/29/2010
177. Us 3/29/2010
178. Wallflower 3/29/2010
179. Wanting To Die 3/29/2010
180. What's That 3/29/2010
181. When Man Enters Woman 3/29/2010
182. Where I Live In This Honorable House Of The Laurel Tree 3/29/2010
183. Where It Was At Back Then 3/29/2010
184. With Mercy For The Greedy 3/29/2010
185. Woman With Girdle 3/29/2010
186. Words 3/29/2010
187. You, Doctor Martin 3/29/2010
188. Young 3/29/2010
Best Poem of Anne Sexton

45 Mercy Street

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 -
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the ...

Read the full of 45 Mercy Street

The Black Art

A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.

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