Reasons to Stop Reading Carver in the Afternoon

Bubba hold this hose- daddy wants to write something before he forgets.

Believe me Ray,
I tried to write broken glass for a while;
to write like a bleeding liver,
like a shaking pen,
like a deaf arm,
like outflowing tides and shingle,
like a shotgunned goose,
like a suicide belt
strapped with dynamite
and agnostic doubt,
like our mostly liquid insides,
warm and poured out.

But now,
your red- eyed, blood roar,
your buckshot blast,
your shattered wing and
your drunk drives,
these seem gentle too.

Ray,
My daughter is 2 and today at the zoo
she learnt the word human.
She thinks I’m not watching so
she’s sneaking up sideways
and aiming a hose in my face.

Ray,
I have come to a 3 foot tall waterfall,
mist is blowing against my face and arms,
I feel beloved on this earth,
and this
is all
gravy.

3 thoughts on “Reasons to Stop Reading Carver in the Afternoon”

    1. Thanks Ashley! What you said is an apt description of how I read Carver’s whole body of work… It takes you in one direction then yanks you back to somewhere else entirely at the finale.

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