It's Not Your Fault                                                                                               —Emily Carr

this is how                      the world
wants to be children
run with halfeaten popsicles
water the trashcan with their
pistols shooting blanks shooting
blanks shooting

rightside up: a summit sleeping
next to a lake. here
                        winter comes
with her runt drowned sun. a rainbow
            limps raggedly across
the salt                    lick. for love:
the singing god goes          to the dead

what you need to believe: some
where paradise is completing
herself somewhere outside our reach                    
           somewhere without us
[frozen human tracks] [a discarded
sneaker, child-size] [what if those were
                                        the good days

a bird murders herself on the
plateglass the boy Nietzsche in a
peaked cap winds up the sun goes
down practicing             surrender
so sharp it cuts       the hurt
               together not apart

as if the fear of being
found out           for who we were
never ended. a hope so wide
you could drive
                            right through

Emily Carr

Emily Carr writes murder mysteries that turn into love poems that are sometimes called divorce poems. After she got an MFA in poetry from the University of North Carolina-Wilmington, she took a doctorate in ecopoetics at the University of Calgary. These days, she’s the program director of the low-residency MFA in creative writing at OSU-Cascades. Her newest book, Whosoever Has Let a Minotaur Enter Them, Or a Sonnet—, is available from McSweeney's. It inspired a beer of the same name, now available at the Ale Apothecary.

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2017