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.