ear self-devising dreamer,
have you learned to live with “Anne”?
I wonder what remains of
who you were when you began.
Is your hair a handsome white now?
Do you wish it back to red?
Has a child leapt upon you
when you took the spare room bed?
Are your sleeves as puffed as popcorn?
Do you still believe you’re plain?
Have you learned to walk a ridgepole?
Can you do it with a cane?
Is the nearby four-lane highway now
your Way of Gray Delight?
Do you dream of alabaster brows,
or just call foreheads “white”?
Do you glare at flighty grandkids
when they stop their work and dream?
Do you let them pose as lily maids
and lose themselves midstream?
When a silly notion whispers,
do you answer? Do you hear it?
No question, Anne of Memory:
you’re still a kindred spirit.

Shoshana Flax