Anne Sexton

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

Anne Sexton Poems

81. My Friend, My Friend 3/29/2010
82. The Twelve Dancing Princesses 3/29/2010
83. The Nude Swim 3/29/2010
84. The Fury Of Abandonment 3/29/2010
85. The Wifebeater 3/29/2010
86. In The Deep Museum 3/29/2010
87. The Room Of My Life 3/29/2010
88. Where It Was At Back Then 3/29/2010
89. Ringing The Bells 3/29/2010
90. Locked Doors 3/29/2010
91. Lobster 3/29/2010
92. The Inventory Of Goodbye 3/29/2010
93. Oh 3/29/2010
94. Star-Nosed Mole 3/29/2010
95. Dreaming The Breasts 3/29/2010
96. Hurry Up Please It's Time 3/29/2010
97. Lullaby 3/29/2010
98. The Big Boots Of Pain 3/29/2010
99. Elizabeth Gone 3/29/2010
100. Mr. Mine 3/29/2010
101. The Big Heart 3/29/2010
102. You, Doctor Martin 3/29/2010
103. Mother And Daughter 3/29/2010
104. For God While Sleeping 3/29/2010
105. The Evil Eye 3/29/2010
106. When Man Enters Woman 3/29/2010
107. Doors, Doors, Doors 3/29/2010
108. Red Roses 3/29/2010
109. The Fury Of Sunsets 3/29/2010
110. More Than Myself 3/29/2010
111. It Is A Spring Afternoon 3/29/2010
112. Love Letter Written In A Burning Building 3/29/2010
113. Gods 3/29/2010
114. In Celebration Of My Uterus 3/29/2010
115. The Doctor Of The Heart 3/29/2010
116. Just Once 3/29/2010
117. Flee On Your Donkey 3/29/2010
118. The Ballad Of The Lonely Masturbator 3/29/2010
119. Red Riding Hood 3/29/2010
120. Suicide Note 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 -
namely MERCY STREET.
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 Kiss

My mouth blooms like a cut.
I've been wronged all year, tedious
nights, nothing but rough elbows in them
and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby
crybaby, you fool!

Before today my body was useless.
Now it's tearing at its square corners.
It's tearing old Mary's garments off, knot by knot

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