Monday 5 November 2018

1 Poem by Pamela Hobart Carter


It is how we think of childhood
and death, paler

than their awful selves, tall
versions when they are taller

and interfere more with cirrus
and icy jet trails

when it is in simple actions
such as sliding a book

from a shelf marked fiction
or stacking delicious impending purchases

on the counter by the cash register
the heart stops

and worlds fail and how
it is—my end, yours—

becomes as obvious
as a too large face

we must admit daily
is familiar and in need of attention


Pamela Hobart Carter used to be a teacher who wrote on the side. Now she is a writer who teaches on the side. Some of her plays have been read and produced on Seattle stages. Long ago she trained as a geologist.

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