Anne Sexton

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

Anne Sexton Poems

161. The Kiss 6/27/2006
162. The Truth The Dead Know 6/27/2006
163. All My Pretty Ones 3/29/2010
164. August 17th 6/27/2006
165. Consorting With Angels 7/11/2006
166. Demon 7/11/2006
167. Her Kind 6/27/2006
168. August 8th 6/27/2006
169. An Obsessive Combination Of Onotological Inscape, Trickery And Love 6/27/2006
170. Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs 6/27/2006
171. Angels Of The Love Affair 6/27/2006
172. And One For My Dame 6/27/2006
173. Cigarettes And Whiskey And Wild, Wild Women 7/11/2006
174. Courage 7/11/2006
175. Cinderella 7/11/2006
176. Buying The Whore 6/27/2006
177. Again And Again And Again 6/27/2006
178. Christmas Eve 6/27/2006
179. A Curse Against Elegies 6/27/2006
180. Barefoot 6/27/2006
181. Briar Rose (Sleeping Beauty) 6/27/2006
182. Music Swims Back To Me 6/27/2006
183. Baby Picture 6/27/2006
184. Admonitions To A Special Person 6/27/2006
185. A Story For Rose On The Midnight Flight To Boston 6/27/2006
186. Anna Who Was Mad 6/27/2006
187. After Auschwitz 6/27/2006
188. 45 Mercy Street 6/27/2006
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

Her Kind

have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,

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