A poem by Anne Sexton
Big heart, wide as a watermelon, but wise as birth, there is so much abundance in the people I have 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.