Anna Evans
gained her MFA from Bennington College, and is the editor of The Raintown Review.
Recipient of a 2011 fellowship from the MacDowell Artists’ Colony, she currently teaches poetry at West Windsor Art Center.
Among her poetry credits are The Harvard Review, Atlanta Review, Rattle, American Arts Quarterly, and 32 Poems. Her chapbooks Swimming and Selected Sonnets are available from Maverick Duck Press.
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April 6th
Today’s an anniversary: I wed
a man I didn’t like enough to love
completely. How to know? I do, I said,
and twirled away in clouds of lacy stuff
with a man I didn’t like enough. To love
was easy—I was still a child. That bride,
who twirled away in clouds of lace, owned stuffed
teddy bears she used to try and hide,
and it was easy. For a child bride
the first two years were much like playing house
with teddy bears. I used to try and hide
how bad I was at housework from my spouse
in those two years. But, much like playing house,
I bored of that, and him. I must confess,
how bad I was at housework threw my spouse,
who’d been a little spoiled. Okay, yes,
I bored of him. To wit, I must confess,
other men were often on my mind.
I’d been a little spoiled, okay? Yes,
to leave him for another was unkind—
like other men were. It’s just on my mind
today, the anniversary. Then I wed
the man I left him for—another kind
completely. How’d I know? I do, I said.
[Originally published in U.S.1 Worksheets.]
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