Anne Sexton

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

Anne Sexton Poems

1. Song For A Lady 8/7/2015
2. Some Foreign Letters 3/29/2010
3. The Legend Of The One-Eyed Man 3/29/2010
4. The House 3/29/2010
5. The Fury Of Cooks 3/29/2010
6. The Errand 3/29/2010
7. The Fury Of Jewels And Coal 3/29/2010
8. Portrait Of An Old Woman On The College Tavern Wall 3/29/2010
9. The Firebombers 3/29/2010
10. The Kite 3/29/2010
11. The Fury Of Overshoes 3/29/2010
12. The Stand-Ins 3/29/2010
13. The Balance Wheel 3/29/2010
14. The Road Back 3/29/2010
15. The Moss Of His Skin 3/29/2010
16. The Lost Ingredient 3/29/2010
17. The Child Bearers 3/29/2010
18. The Hangman 3/29/2010
19. Letter Written On A Ferry While Crossing Long Island Sound 3/29/2010
20. Raccoon 3/29/2010
21. Old 3/29/2010
22. The Author Of The Jesus Papers Speaks 3/29/2010
23. The Interrogation Of The Man Of Many Hearts 3/29/2010
24. The Fallen Angels 3/29/2010
25. Where I Live In This Honorable House Of The Laurel Tree 3/29/2010
26. The Gold Key 3/29/2010
27. Hutch 3/29/2010
28. The Bells 3/29/2010
29. Torn Down From Glory Daily 3/29/2010
30. The Evil Seekers 3/29/2010
31. For Johnny Pole On The Forgotten Beach 3/29/2010
32. The Angel Food Dogs 3/29/2010
33. The Break 3/29/2010
34. The Wedding Ring Dance 3/29/2010
35. Funnel 3/29/2010
36. Small Wire 3/29/2010
37. Woman With Girdle 3/29/2010
38. The Waiting Head 3/29/2010
39. The Fury Of Guitars And Sopranos 3/29/2010
40. The Red Dance 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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