Julie Carr

Julie Carr’s Sarah — of Fragments and Lines, Coffee House, 2012]

Conception Abstracts

                            Heat teems from the meat of the form

      Tame heat if tame form, if maimed form then fierce.
                       Seems eaten, this mate, this timed tenant.


Tenured member of my own passive nature, I tested the
tine of the task. Desperate for some apt rapture, tapped
the lap of the master. Faster. Water and laughter, the
last splatter of summer, later, the hot slap of not
sleeping. Walled by fault, the taut self slipped. And to
what heights after?


[untitled]

In the second week of solid rain, Sarah. You woke at dawn with 

a head of dream. Clover’s fell enthusiasm expands in the 

perpetual bath. Sarah. The lamp suspended in the garden, 

Sarah: Cheshire-like and falsely dear. We make boats of juice 

bottles, houses of cereal boxes, cats of toilet paper, eggs of 

lavender and stone. Sarah. At the festival of water we watch an 

orchestra of children sway to the music of their strings. And in 

your room you succumb. Learn as you are dying how to 

behave like one near dead. As magpie, you are eave-bound, 

acquisitive, indiscriminate. Beak clipping the scraps of your old 

existence, the strings of your future weave, Sarah. As duck you 

are industrious, with a reed in your possession, across pond 

you slide. But here, tatter-head, you are forced into days, 

broken into hours, and those hours mercilessly sliced.

Julie Carr