Anna’s poems appear in literary journals regularly, including Barn Owl Review, Cimarron Review, Connecticut Review, Crab Orchard Review, Cream City Review, Eclipse, Elixir, Flyway, Image, Jeopardy, The Journal, Lake Effect, Laurel Review, Margie, New Zoo Poetry Review, Nimrod, Oberon, Phoebe, Pool, Post Road, River Oak Review, Sou’Wester, Spoon River Poetry Review, Third Coast, Washington Square, Zócalo Public Square, and many others.
“The Giraffes at Lincoln Park Zoo” is published in Helen: A Magazine. The editors have made a video version and nominated this poem for a Pushcart Prize.
“The Day of Fire and Light” is published with audio at Drunken Boat.
“The Nuclear Age” (published at Zócalo Public Square)
Never underestimate clever lives engaging all reason. No
uranium can lessen ever after rushing: now-now-now! uttered
childlike, envy-anger reaching. New understanding crafts
likenesses, excites atoms, reality never upended completely. Let
every atom react: Nancy, Uncle, Charlie, Luna, Easy,
Able, Rushmore, names undoing creation. Let everyone answer
readily, nothing untoward, controversial. Light ends. Air recedes.
“None of That” (published at Gravel)
A friend, a fellow poet, announces
that he will someday open a restaurant
called None of That, wanting customers
to say, Oh, I’ll have none of that,
and by that, he means cheese.
What confidence! I see now,
only years later, it’s acronym: NOT.
I am jealous of his utter disdain.
I am jealous of his unwavering voice.
What would I not serve,
what would I not allow on my menu?
All I can think is beets, but
who likes beets? They would not be
missed. No, I long to loathe
what others likely love
and to be okay with that loathing.
But I am poor at decisions.
Insouciance is an illusion.
I desire to deny others
based on my own predilections, the strength
of my convictions, whether right or wrong,
but I find myself lacking, full
of wishy-washy sympathy
that, though I don’t much like–what?
what is it?–mint, trigger of my migraines,
I see how others might. I have seen
the thick tongue licking mint-chocolate-chip
from a cone, have heard talk of julep,
a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.
This friend will not stop. He claims
that his second restaurant will be called
None of That Either. He has more, more than
I can muster, and I try harder
to think of something, the thing. But all I want
to keep from others is what I most want for myself
because there might not be enough to go around.