Anne Sexton

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

For My Lover, Returning To His Wife - Poem by Anne Sexton

She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.
She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.
Let's face it, I have been momentary.
vA luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,
has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter's wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,
done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.
She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person,
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission -
for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound -
for the burying of her small red wound alive -
for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother's knee, for the stocking,
for the garter belt, for the call -
the curious call
when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.


Comments about For My Lover, Returning To His Wife by Anne Sexton

  • Anil Kumar Panda (1/18/2019 8:58:00 AM)


    'She is solid.
    As for me, I am a watercolor.
    I wash off. '..is so nice. Sometimes it gives immense pain if you lost something valuable. Loved it. Thanks for sharing.10++++
    (Report) Reply

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  • Edward Kofi Louis (1/18/2019 8:37:00 AM)


    For the fuse inside her! !

    Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
    (Report) Reply

  • (1/18/2019 8:23:00 AM)


    like Eleanor implied I am inspired that anybody can get paid $9852 in one month on the internet. have you read this web site.....
    www.geosalary.com
    (Report) Reply

  • Adrian Flett (1/18/2019 2:42:00 AM)


    A poem of longing for something once had but now lost. 'Let's face it, I have been momentary' (Report) Reply

  • Bernard F. Asuncion (1/18/2019 12:32:00 AM)


    A touching poem by Anne Sexton................... (Report) Reply

  • (1/18/2019 12:11:00 AM)


    One can feel the intensity of her helpless anger through out the poem - chilling! (Report) Reply

  • (8/7/2018 4:12:00 AM)


    I first read this poem in, I think, the New Yorker and it has haunted me ever since. Stunning and even heart-breaking imagery that has, apparently, burrowed itself into some place deep in me. Brings me to tears every time I read it...... (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, March 29, 2010



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