Anne Sexton Poems

It comes oozing
out of flowers at night,
it comes out of the rain
...

Notice how he has numbered the blue veins
in my breast. Moreover there are ten freckles.
Now he goes left. Now he goes right.
...

For months my hand was sealed off
in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings.
Perhaps it is bruised, I thought,
...

Mother,
strange goddess face
above my milk home,
that delicate asylum,
...

What is death, I ask.
What is life, you ask.
I give them both my buttocks,
...

I was thinking of a son.
The womb is not a clock
nor a bell tolling,
but in the eleventh month of its life
...

Husband,
last night I dreamt
they cut off your hands and feet.
...

For the angels who inhabit this town,
although their shape constantly changes,
each night we leave some cold potatoes
...

A story, a story!
(Let it go. Let it come.)
I was stamped out like a Plymouth fender
into this world.
...

It was also my violent heart that broke,
falling down the front hall stairs.
It was also a message I never spoke,
...