Anna Rose is a poet.

who likes to merge reality and fiction. Here is an excerpt of a poem of hers that she wrote based on conversations we had this summer.

I.

I snapped a picture of you at twenty,
sitting in your car.
Your hair was red.

I figured you were in love,
because your hair was red.

Is there any other way to show that
you’re 20 and in love
than by dying your hair red?

You disagreed at 20.

bright green
is the color you see in love,
you said, looking into the rear view mirror.

But I always thought that green is the color
of youth and fertility,
I told you then.

Are you young and fertile?,
I asked, expecting a laugh.

Don’t be so analytical
was all you had to say.

II.

You laughed when I showed you
the picture of your twenty year old self.
I asked you why.

You thought I was asking why your hair had been red.

I dyed it red because I liked Bartok.
I wanted to hear Bartok when I looked in the mirror,
you said with a toothy smile.

You pushed your brown hair behind your ear
as you looked down at the picture.
You laughed at your old red hair.