Anne Sexton Poems

Consider
a girl who keeps slipping off,
arms limp as old carrots,
into the hypnotist's trance,
...

It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
...

Anna who was mad,
I have a knife in my armpit.
When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.
Am I some sort of infection?
...

Anger,
as black as a hook,
overtakes me.
Each day,
...

You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
...

A born salesman,
my father made all his dough
by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo.
...

It's in the heart of the grape
where that smile lies.
It's in the good-bye-bow in the hair
where that smile lies.
...

Until tonight they were separate specialties,
different stories, the best of their own worst.
Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy's
laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first
...

Watch out for power,
for its avalanche can bury you,
snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain.
...

Wait Mister. Which way is home?
They turned the light out
and the dark is moving in the corner.
There are no sign posts in this room,
...