Anna Weaver writes as a former soldier, a lover of flatlands, and a woman “with loyalties scattered over the landscape” (HT: Marge Piercy). Her poems have appeared in Connotation Press, O-Dark-Thirty, One, and elsewhere, earning nominations for the Pushcart and other prizes. She’s performed her poetry in 37 states and counting, and hosts a vibrant open mic in Raleigh, NC. Her current project is a series of poems exploring the Elder Futhark runes. She shares tips for open mic hosts and performers at annaweaver.net.
1986
...it’s like falling in love with yourself,
the one who had been the villain.
~Sharon Olds
thanks be
that I wasn’t writing
poems that year
fresh
out of high school
nothing to choke on
except Izods
and ignorance
no fires
no haze
to inform me
that my summer air
was an immigrant
not to mention
all those bees
their unremarkable
doodling
at the margins
of every flower
every vegetable
I saw and what
could I possibly
have said
about the ocean
sloshing around
at its rightful depth
heavy with coral
and whales
unbleached
unbeached
every glass
half full
with all that
glorious ice
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