Raised in Oklahoma, Anna Weaver has yet to find a more satisfying sky or a better sunset on three continents. Not that she’d admit it if she had. Last summer she crossed the South China Sea four times between Singapore, Manila, Macau, and Jakarta. A frequent reader at local open mics, she has performed in Atlanta, Chicago, Nashville, and Raleigh. Her poems have been published in Star*Line, Utter, Wild Goose Poetry Review, and elsewhere, and she has twice been translated into Polish. She lives in North Carolina with her two daughters and keeps track of all this here.
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //