Anne Sexton

The Big Heart ~ A Poem by Anne Sexton

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The Weight of Radical Connection: Finding Grace in Anne Sexton’s “The Big Heart”

In an era of digital “friends” and curated distances, Anne Sexton’s “The Big Heart” reminds us that true intimacy is messy, bloody, and absolutely essential for the soul’s survival.

The Big Heart

Anne Sexton

“Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.” – From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Big heart,
wide as a watermelon,
but wise as birth,
there is so much abundance
in the people I have:
Max, Lois, Joe, Louise,
Joan, Marie, Dawn,
Arlene, Father Dunne,
and all in their short lives
give to me repeatedly,
in the way the sea
places its many fingers on the shore,
again and again
and they know me,
they help me unravel,
they listen with ears made of conch shells,
they speak back with the wine of the best region.
They are my staff.
They comfort me.

They hear how
the artery of my soul has been severed
and soul is spurting out upon them,
bleeding on them,
messing up their clothes,
dirtying their shoes.
And God is filling me,
though there are times of doubt
as hollow as the Grand Canyon,
still God is filling me.
He is giving me the thoughts of dogs,
the spider in its intricate web,
the sun
in all its amazement,
and a slain ram
that is the glory,
the mystery of great cost,
and my heart,
which is very big,
I promise it is very large,
a monster of sorts,
takes it all in—
all in comes the fury of love.  

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Anne Sexton’s “The Big Heart” is a visceral exploration of the capacity to love and be loved in a world that often feels overwhelming. Borrowing from Yeats, Sexton presents the heart not as a dainty valentine, but as a “monster”—a vast, wide-reaching vessel capable of holding both the “wine of the best region” and the raw trauma of a “severed soul.”

In contemporary society, we are often encouraged to compartmentalize our pain and curate our joy. Sexton’s poem rebels against this sterility. She describes her friends as those who let her “bleed on them,” suggesting that authentic connection requires a willingness to be uncomfortably present for one another’s wreckage.

Today, as we navigate a landscape of “abundance” and “doubt as hollow as the Grand Canyon,” the poem serves as a blueprint for spiritual resilience. It suggests that while the influx of life’s beauty and horror is constant, a “big heart” doesn’t just endure the chaos—it transforms it into the fury of love. To live fully today is to accept the “mystery of great cost” and allow the world to fill us up, despite the mess it makes.

As you read this poem, ask yourself:

Does your current circle of connection allow for the “messing up of clothes,” or are you holding back your truest “fury of love” to remain presentable?

I Remember ~ A Poem by Anne Sexton

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The Ache of Intimacy: Decoding Anne Sexton’s “I Remember” for the Modern Soul

I Remember

Anne Sexton

By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color—no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.

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The Warmth of Bare Feet and Jelly Glasses

In a world dominated by curated digital feeds and the relentless ticking of “productivity,” Anne Sexton’s “I Remember” arrives like a cool draft on a humid night. The poem captures a fleeting summer of unvarnished intimacy—a time defined by “warm and neat” gin in jelly glasses and the forgotten winding of alarm clocks.

Sexton’s imagery of hemp-tough grass and “invisible beetles” evokes a raw, tactile connection to the present moment. In contemporary society, we are often tethered to our devices, living in a state of fractured attention. Sexton reminds us that true life happens in the “no color” of the sand and the shared simplicity of two rooms connected by a single door.

The poem’s brilliance lies in its domesticity. It suggests that the profound isn’t found in grand gestures, but in the vulnerability of being “barefoot since the twentieth of June.” To live well today is to reclaim this Sexton-esque presence: to let the sun blow out of sight without feeling the need to capture it on a screen, and to cherish the physical closeness that transcends the digital divide.

As you read this poem, ask yourself: Does your current pace of life allow for the “forgotten alarm clocks” and quiet connections that Sexton suggests are the only things truly worth remembering?

Just Once ~ A Poem by Anne Sexton

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Just Once: When Life Briefly Reveals Its Meaning

What if life’s meaning reveals itself only once—but that single moment is enough?

Just Once

Anne Sexton

Just once I knew what life was for.
In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood;
walked there along the Charles River,
watched the lights copying themselves,
all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening
their mouths as wide as opera singers;
counted the stars, my little campaigners,
my scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love
on the night green side of it and cried
my heart to the eastbound cars and cried
my heart to the westbound cars and took
my truth across a small humped bridge
and hurried my truth, the charm of it, home
and hoarded these constants into morning
only to find them gone.

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Reflection

In Just Once, Anne Sexton captures a fleeting moment when life briefly reveals its meaning—then quietly withdraws it. The poem reminds us that clarity often arrives unannounced, luminous and temporary, like city lights mirrored on dark water. Sexton shows how truth can be felt deeply yet refuse to stay, how meaning can be carried home in the heart only to vanish by morning. Still, the experience matters. Even when gone, such moments leave behind a quiet confidence: that meaning is possible, that it has touched us once—and may again.

As you read this poem, ask yourself:

Have you ever experienced a brief moment when life felt perfectly clear—and how did it change you afterward?

I Remember ~ A Poem by Anne Sexton

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Anne Sexton’s I Remember isn’t just a poem—it’s a haunting key to a summer so intimate, even time forgot to tick.

I Remember

Anne Sexton

By the first of August
the invisible beetles began
to snore and the grass was
as tough as hemp and was
no color—no more than
the sand was a color and
we had worn our bare feet
bare since the twentieth
of June and there were times
we forgot to wind up your
alarm clock and some nights
we took our gin warm and neat
from old jelly glasses while
the sun blew out of sight
like a red picture hat and
one day I tied my hair back
with a ribbon and you said
that I looked almost like
a puritan lady and what
I remember best is that
the door to your room was
the door to mine.

Source

Reflection

In I Remember, Anne Sexton invites us into a summer stripped of time, formality, and even footwear. The poem is less about recollection and more about immersion—the raw texture of heat, shared space, and quiet rituals of closeness. The world becomes sensory and blurred: colorless grass, warm gin, invisible beetles. Her memory doesn’t cling to milestones but to the mundane made sacred—a ribbon in her hair, a shared door, the simplicity of being. That final line, “the door to your room was the door to mine,” encapsulates a bond so deep that even boundaries dissolve. It’s about a time when intimacy wasn’t spoken—it was lived. And remembered not with clarity, but with longing.

Small Wire ~ A Poem by Anne Sexton

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Small Wire

Anne Sexton

My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider
hang her baby on a thin web,
as doth the vine,
twiggy and wooden,
hold up grapes
like eyeballs,
as many angels
dance on the head of a pin.

God does not need
too much wire to keep Him there,
just a thin vein,
with blood pushing back and forth in it,
and some love.
As it has been said:
Love and a cough
cannot be concealed.
Even a small cough.
Even a small love.
So if you have only a thin wire,
God does not mind.
He will enter your hands
as easily as ten cents used to
bring forth a Coke.

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