Lines of Refusal
       

Nothing here, just the sound of the heat, the sound of the cars,
nothing, nothing

Sweet unrest

To the oldest son a scythe, to the second a cock, to the third a cat

Must avoid rivers, strivers, and voyeurs

Not gather, not tether, not tie

The young brother came to a town that was completely hung
with black crepe

Wrote his autobiography in exactly thirty-seven words

Crawled into a crawlspace and pulled shut the door

No friend, no grammar, no end

Later, he too will become an imposing statue

No wish, no fission, no sign

Then hurrying across the avenue

Snow and so on

A young red fox and so on

Face and hair and hands and so on

Each with the incomparable taste of its own life in its mouth

Copyright © 2010 Julie Carr All rights reserved
from Sarah—Of Fragments and Lines
Coffee House Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission