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It was as if a morning-glory
had bloomed in her throat
and all that blue
and small pollen
ate into my heart
violent and religious.Anne Sexton, from “The Fury of Guitars and Sopranos,” Selected Poems (Marianer Books, 2000)
“I want to believe, walking those aimless nights, that I was praying. For what I’m still not sure. But I always felt it was just ahead of me. That if I walked far enough, long enough, I would find it–perhaps even hold it up, like a tongue at the end of its word.”
— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous (Penguin, 2019)
