Wednesday Wrote-Anna

I knew Anna when she knew me. but I know Anna now. and what I know now isn't what it was. Anna was unlike the what she's becoming; she was amongst the all of the excitement-years of study and travel, purchases and children and love, of having the required, and being the required. she was the story. she lived the line of words. but under these, the page: always white they say. until now. the off-white's showing through she's telling me, though not in so many words. there in the mirror; in the kid's voices too she says. although she won't tell Leonard, his voice the crumpled page now. Anna's finding Anna writ large across the page these days, in letters the decades tried cover. letters we once spoke. letters spelling her name again. so she sits at her table unable to write