Anthology 2005

Hanna

When I was fifteen,
She looked me over calmly.

The next night I fell in love with her,
I was there only because she took pleasure in me and on me.
It all happened because of reading aloud.
She was an attentive listener.
I was completely happy.

Then I began to betray her.
And in that briefest of moments in which I took my eyes off her,
She was gone.

When I saw Hanna again,
I recognized her, but felt nothing.
I did not miss a single day of the trial.

Eventually she gave up.
The verdict was handed down,
Hanna was sentenced to life.

I read to Hanna. I read to Hanna on tape.
So the years passed without my going to the prison.
One morning, Hanna was dead.
She had hanged herself at daybreak

With the letter in my pocket
I drove to the cemetery
To Hanna’s grave.
It was the first and only time I stood there.

— Molly Moreland

This poem was inspired by Schlink's The Reader.