Posted in Poetry

My Ann

I’ve worked hard and long,
longer than a shadow at 6pm.
Myself, tripped up
her arms around corners
hands to shut me down.

You tell me your name
pen and paper
written in letters,
some make sense
others regrets.

I need your something,
to feel better,
together,
Ann and I
needle and thread.

Drafts Folder 2016. Still unsure of this poem. From where it departed? Another life lived?