Laura Knight, Take Off, 1943 Pearl Harbor Day. The cruciform. No rain last night, but an icestorm. Jewels! Today each twig is important, each ring, each infection, each form is all that the gods must have meant. Pearl Harbor Day leaves scars. Silver flies in the wind, little stars, little eye pennies pock up and …
Andy Warhol, Jackie (Gold), 1964 And where did we meet? Was it in London on Carnaby Street? Was it in Paris on the Left Bank? That there that I can thank? No. It was Harvard Square at the kiosk with both of us crying. I can thank that there — the day Jack Kennedy was …
Lucian Freud, And the bridegroom, 2001 Then I think of you in bed, your tongue half chocolate, half ocean, of the houses that you swing into, of the steel wool hair on your head, of your persistent hands and then how we gnaw at the barrier because we are two. How you come and take …
Wright Barker, Circe, 1899 Oh then I stood up in my gold skin and I beat down the psalms and I beat down the clothes and you undid the bridle and you undid the reins and I undid the buttons, the bones, the confusions, the New England postcards, the January ten o’clock night, and we …
Edmund Dulac, The Firebird, 1916 A thousand doors ago when I was a lonely kid in a big house with four garages and it was summer as long as I could remember, I lay on the lawn at night, clover wrinkling under me, the wise stars bedding over me, my mother’s window a funnel of …
Anne Sexton was an American poet known for her highly personal, confessional verse about her depression, suicidal tendencies, and intimate details from her private life.
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