Follow Harriet on Twitter
Poems for Carrie
Thanks so much to all the people who sent me their poems for Carrie. I’ve sent the story to some poet friends as well. Who knows? Maybe we’ll have a book’s worth.
Here are some of the poems I’ve received by email. Again, thanks for sending them. -Amber
Poem For Carrie by Sarah Riegel
the poison that seeped through lost lovers lips
saturated your everything with the oiliness of all possible tomorrows
slipping through your fingers
running towards the exit with a stroller in neon
not stopping to wave goodbye at your broken pieces
an ocean of hurt washes upon your shores
and when you put seashells to your ears
nothing but static comes through
garbled memories bouncing back on
frequencies of distrust
your ears sting into the past
but what you may not know
is that you are not unread
you can never be unwritten
and you are inside the everything that
refuses to stop beating inside the heart of love
you are inside the pulses of lovers
pounding their bodies into one rhythm
you are the letters inside bottles thrown to sea
screaming in sand
“I don’t care who reads this
just read me”
Untitled by Cara
There isn’t even a memory left of you here.
Pulled up stakes and sprinted so fast into your future,
no one even remembered your name when the clock
struck twelve. Your glass slipper, shattered somewhere
in a cubicle. Crushed it yourself just so no one could find you.
That poison got set in motion and you had to go.
Had to outrun it before it could touch you too, turn your
everything to black, make you have to dig it out.
Getting on that train was easier. A piece of slipper in your pocket, the
sharpest edge you could find, just in case.
Untitled by Bill Doze
your marked deck ritual of naming
is bait for a rage goddess.
Tribute in a commuter crevice,
it passed to me.
Today I felt the rage of kinship obligation
and other flavors, parental and vehicular.
In the basement our newly homeless uncle
frantic child man
spilled out the contents of his luggage checking
and rechecking for the weed he stashed when he heard his niece approach
Helpless in the laundry circle,
pilled cotton remainder of his autonomy,
he declared “It’s just gone” with twilight zone credulity.
“It isn’t” I said.
Upstairs I berate my daughter for the carpet of pencil shavings
around her bed,
tuck her in with the assurance that she has no excuse.
It’s your shakti Carrie, stirring my nerves.
The house was suddenly too small.
Fast food sounded good.
At McD’s an obtuse sedan blocked my way
entering through the exit,
and I fired calumny at the driver.
I wanted to poison meaning in her life.
I found a gap between fender and hedge
fled to my driveway
and I’m sitting in my back yard,
puzzling over the cause of causes,
what am I channeling
who am I entitled to hurt.
I look at the night sky.
and kneeling above me is a cloud,
a goddamned Precious Moments® angel,
wings, gown, the works,
the rage goddess laughing at me.