For Anna

Anna bursts through the front door—
yelling. She is dripping wet with rage 
having forgotten her umbrella. But,
not so much forgotten, more misplaced, 
and now her socks are sopping.

When Anna comes home she takes off
her emotions as easily as she hangs
her coat in the front hall closet, letting 
the metal hanger take a turn holding 
the burden. She turns the kettle on and
yells to tell me incase I want a cup of tea,

Anna yells because she is bursting at the seams 
with every feeling, she yells at the kettle, at the 
world, at the goddamnweather and she gives me 
a hug when I come into the kitchen. She says 

because she needed it, and I want to ask 
for a second but instead I get her favorite
mug out of the cabinet. I want to live 
the way Anna loves, loudly and dripping in it.